


Seven

by clearripplingwater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore just needs to stop being dumb, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Harry Potter, Everyone Tries To Get Along, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Horcrux Hunting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Little Harry Potter changes everyone's lives for the better, M/M, Mentor Severus Snape, Past Relationship(s), Remus Lupin & James Potter Friendship, Severus Snape Has A Heart For Harry Potter, Severus Snape Is Outed As The Traitor, Severus Snape Raises Harry Potter Along With The Other Adults, Severus Snape gets hit by reality, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, flawed Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearripplingwater/pseuds/clearripplingwater
Summary: A seven year old Harry Potter, cursed with abusive guardians, is now ripped out of the normal life he endured to accompany one snarky Severus Snape into the Wizarding World, where his life now in danger, will also be rebuilt. Can the broken Potions Master heal the neglected Boy-Who-Lived, and perhaps, come to love him?
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 69





	1. Obligations

He hadn’t expected to remain idle after securing the job as the resident Potions Master at Hogwarts, no, but he hadn’t thought about spying so frequently ever since the Dark Lord’s disappearance.

Of course, most of it was just the guilt that drove him to attend these inane chatters of Dark Lord’s loose trail. In fact, Dumbledore had always assured him that a missive stating that he wouldn’t be able to attend due to unforeseen circumstances and a lucky chance to overhear information-would let him be excused.

He was working hard, Albus had said, and had far too many duties as the resident Potions Master and the Head of Slytherin. The Death Eaters would have to understand his position, he had said. Severus had vehemently shoved off the sentiments that seemed to ooze from the Headmaster, though he knew what Albus said was true.

He _was_ overwrought with his lesson plans and had a spy position to put forth. He attended the meetings whenever he could, which was sparse attendance as too much time away from Dumbledore would raise suspicions within the circle. But from Rowle, five meetings past, Severus found himself filled with dread every morning.

He hadn’t attended the last four meetings, and when he had gotten the owl from Lucius stating that the next meeting would be held in Malfoy Manor, Severus had known he had to attend.

Lucius was, by far, the most withdrawn, rivalling Karakoff, of the Death Eaters. Of course, he had a family and was raising the miscreant he called for a son and had gotten off with the Imperious plead, which somehow translated into reinstating everything Malfoy back to the dreaded blonde. Severus couldn’t help but allow a bit of bitterness to creep in whenever he thought about how much evidence was to be piled on him for him being a spy, yet Malfoy only had to prowl into the hall, plead and drizzle galleons, causing the bumbling morons of the Ministry to let him off with a few sharp words, as if Lucius Malfoy was only a troubled teenager.

Lucius was a Slytherin in every manner, though. His atonement, as he stated, was to readily be installed as a Board Governor and become the biggest financial donor to the Ministry. Severus was not fooled, though. Lucius, even when he used to look up to the blonde in awe in his youth, looked down at anything less than pureblood or Slytherin. His position was a valuable asset, merely, and gave him a day job rather than bloody atonement.

He was no child anymore, and the Dark Arts had torn his life apart far enough, so Severus knew that he had to analyse every Malfoy appearance as a double edged sword where the inbred blondes were to be the ones holding the hilt.

Hence, when the owl had arrived with the statement that the next Death Eater meeting’s venue was to be the Malfoy Manor, Severus had gone straight to Albus right after a lunch of sawdust to his tongue. Of course, it had ended up on him agreeing to go attend and to be on his guard. After all, Lucius Malfoy breaking his absentee streak was a highly suspicious matter. Malfoy Manor, from Severus’s own experiences, was not a home open for guests. It was merely a place of getting work done for the Malfoy’s--as if the oily history of the Slytherin blood had to be polished by such actions.

Hence, being invited could only mean big news that could only make Severus’s stomach churn, of course.

Albus had briefly brought up the topic of the Potter boy when Severus had asked on his opinion on the venue, which made Severus almost drop his cup of tea.

“I cannot say, my boy, what they would find in young Harry, but I advise you to be on your guard more than ever and remember your vow. That boy is only such-a boy, and by our reports, quietly disregarding magic.”

Severus had nervously asked if it couldn’t be on the Dark Lord’s trail, yet Albus could only say that the information that he holds was the same amount the Death Eaters would know—non-existent.

He never liked the topic of the Potter boy. It had always made him sick whenever Minerva had tears in her eyes, hoping and praying on the little fool’s birthday—the boy was probably living the best life an orphan could ever have, coddled and swaddled even at the age of six, yet it never seemed to be anyone else’s opinion.

After all, it was James Potter’s spawn after all?

Yet, Harry Potter’s name had always bled guilt into his ears. After all, he had condemned the boy’s parents to their early graves.

_Lily’s boy as well._

Oh, how her death still affected his dreams.

Every year, on her birthday and death day, he would go back to the park in Spinner’s End and spend at least two hours, late at night, with a candle in one hand, and firewhiskey in another—the only times of the year he allowed himself to get completely knackered over the effects of the godforsaken alcohol.

In dry amusement, he knew he wouldn’t let himself be if Lily wouldn’t keep haunting his dreams.

She could’ve been his if he hadn’t been so adamant over the power he was offered—mainly fueled by his bitterness over his abusive, drunk Muggle father. He knew Lily knew that. She was only trying to help, the sweet angel. Oh, but Severus and his clever mouth had screwed it over, and there she was, spurning his apology and making Severus’s stupidity crash over his anger. The only happy, safe thing in his abused, poor life was stripped away from him—all because he had been tortured a little more than usual by the bloody Marauders. After all, one’s pants meant nothing when Lily was dead at his words, leaving her infant son, bleeding in a crib over her dead body.

But _James Potter_. The name would always drawl out his sneer. That bully, the bloody pompous arse, had somehow won Lily over. The arrogant toe rag, as she had once screeched at him, that man was her choice. Severus’s bane of Hogwarts— _him_.

Yet, how terribly vindictive it must’ve sounded. Pleading for Lily’s life, and leaving out her husband and son to both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Dumbledore’s disgust…it had hit him what exactly Potter meant to Lily. And how Severus had messed up every chance of Lily ever thinking about him, even as a cold bastard.

He _was_ disgusting. And he had to make up for it.

 _That_ load of guilt made Severus only swear again and again about making sure the boy lives through this, and making sure the boy never hears about his vows. Embarrassing and guilt inducing. Not something Severus wanted from Potter’s whelp—not ever.

So there he was, at the long, exquisitely crafted wooden table at the Malfoy’s, where he heard Rowle explain with a smirk about administrating the same boy’s slow death, as if he founded a new Magical theory.

With a goblet in hand, he had described the sheer delight that their Master would feel on knowing the humiliating twit’s death by the hands of the faithful, to which the other dunderheads that call themselves Dark Art enthusiasts and Death Eaters had nodded their heads excitedly to.

All but Lucius and Severus, though.

Severus couldn’t speak and he felt as if he was thrown in a Body-Bind. The hell was he meant to do? Go along with them and make them question his position as too enthusiastic to remain as a spy? Or defy them, and make them all turn against him?

Rowle was paying even more attention to him in this meeting more than ever—he probably expected Severus to convey more words from the Headmaster.

But, as much as Severus was known for being reclusive and anti-social, he wasn’t used to being shocked into utter speechlessness.

He remembered Occluding like a mad man and running through his options, when Lucius’s oily tone had broken his frantic thoughts.

“Forgive me, but the idea seems far too…desperate. The Dark Lord, in my opinion, would want to humiliate the boy as the boy had done to him. It would only do you more harm than good in the future if you were to kill Potter.”

Rowle’s eyes had lingered on Severus’s for a moment before turning back to Lucius.

“Oh? Let’s say I were to do the killing, Lucius. I’ve lost my wife, I bore no children and I merely live as the final heir to the House of Rowle. Tell me, Lucius, if he were to find the Potter whelp’s death from my hands as a sign of dishonour, would my hurt or death really hurt you all? More, it would only do us good.” The insufferable, and now, suicidal mad man grinned, crinkled his glinting, brazen eyes. “He would get over his disappointment in me, and use the Potter boy’s death as an advantage. The Saviour would be decimated. The Wizarding World loses their little mudblood angel— “

 _This idiot_ , thought Severus as he cleared his throat. Rowle’s eyes had whipped to his, and his eyes narrowed. _What the hell?_

“I have to agree, becoming as fugitive as a werewolf pack to the eyes of the Ministry, doesn’t seem to be the right course of action if we were to promote our ideologies of _nobility_.”

Severus met Lucius’s eyes who gave him a curious look. Severus sighed and looked back at Rowle, who’s eyes were still in slits, to which Severus arched an eyebrow at.

“Kidnapping and murdering a whelp who hasn’t barely even reached the age of seven would only make the Wizarding World call us low-class predators. As such, he is, an angel to the world. The riots and protests might even reach the Ministry and blow at alarming rates if Dumbledore gets involved. And what am I to say to the old man, hm? Casually state that I had no idea that the whelp was to die? I must agree with Lucius, Rowle, it is an awful jump of plans.”

Another voice joined. Yaxley.

“Of course,” he drawled in a gruff voice, “we could play it out as the work of someone outside? Perhaps as a Ministry official with Polyjuice and perhaps get Bellatrix out to do it? It wouldn’t be on our heads.”

He could feel rather than see Lucius’s nostrils flare on the mention of his sister-in-law. Not the proud part of Lucius’s reputation, brother-in-law to an Azkaban inmate and all.

“Don’t be foolish, Yaxley” said Lucius sharply. “For all we know, she could most certainly be a madwoman in emotional distraught. Think of someone new and bold.”

_Oh, Merlin. Here I thought Lucius wouldn’t look for the whelp’s death._

The whole time Severus was focused on Yaxley’s intervention, he could feel Rowle’s eyes boring into him, which he pointedly ignored.

He couldn’t stand it after a few good moments of silence. He whipped his head at Rowle and glared. “ _What_ is it that you find so interesting in me?”

He heard the Carrows snigger while the rest of the Death Eaters merely looked upon them with mirth dancing in their eyes.

Rowle’s eyebrows shot up as he leaned back in his chair. “Whatever do you mean, Snape?”

Snape gave an exasperated sigh and rubbed his temples. He looked back to the calculating gaze of Rowle and scowled.

“What _exactly_ are you trying to get out from me?”

Half the table chuckled, including Rowle. “I was thinking about what you would have to say to the old codger, Snape. I did not mean to insult you.” The man shot him a grim smile, making Severus roll his eyes towards the ceiling.

“I’m a Master Occlumens, Rowle. The old man doesn’t expect me to retaliate his teachings at him. I thought it was obvious—I’m his troubled ex-student that he trusts with his life.” Severus’s eyes reached back down to Rowle’s. “A false trail here and there puts him off—he wouldn’t dare Legilimise me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. He doesn’t want to break the already-broken Slytherin by breaking my trust.”

“Ah,” said Rowle, swirling his goblet. “May I ask if you’ve been Occluding even now?”

Purebloods were usually brought up with the stoic of a man ready to be tutored with the Mind Magics, and hence, require honing of the mind for the arts. All the Death Eaters were competent in it, but it never met Severus’s talent, no.

Severus’s daunting upbringing had made Occluding an innate talent of his, especially when he had to shut of his mother’s tortured screams-- and had exceeded even Dumbledore’s abilities which had both saddened his mentor as well as made him fiercely proud of Severus.

It was from that day, Severus could see the man gracing Severus as a son-like figure over his disgust and the vow for Lily, making Severus flush and feel like a praised toddler. He wanted to make his mentor proud, was what he knew at the age of twenty-two, and make the man trust him in every way—which was quickly proven after his two exceedingly perfect Legelimency lessons over which Dumbledore merely embraced Severus, muttering about wronging the little, lost Slytherin that he discerned from the small glimpses of Severus’s stream of memories. He had, much to his own chagrin, returned to embrace and awkwardly stated that there was no need to gush sentiments and that he would be perfectly alright around him.

The so-called sentiments hadn’t even caused Severus to spit fire about watching personal memories. The embrace had shaken his very core and his childish longing for a caring guardian was slowly emerging. It had terrified him.

Slowly, Albus Dumbledore had become Severus’s only confidante of his emotions and life. Everyone else metaphorically, and literally, was Occluded from his life.

 _Of course he kept Occluding_. It was second nature to Severus. It was the matter of _how_ much he had to Occlude in company of people that he practiced.

“Yes, I am. The dunderheads have submitted their horrendous assignments before their summer break, and in between I’m serving the Dark Lord and spy for a barmy, old man. I have an immediate stress reliever in forms of Occlumency as my mind is disciplined enough to prioritise my attention. I hope that gives you relief that I’m not hiding anything from you?” he drawled sarcastically.

He wasn’t wrong. The Slytherin, pragmatic approach with the Occlumency barriers tied in made Severus confident and sorted. He probably wouldn’t have lived after Lily’s death if he hadn’t had them both.

Another round of chuckles broke through, and Lucius slapped his shoulder with a thin smile.

Rowle grinned and raised his goblet to Severus. “Very well, Snape. I shall leave the concern of your spying activities…though perhaps we could revisit the option of the Potter boy’s death later?” Rowle looked at both Lucius and him, to which both nodded.

The conversation immediately turned to the Dark Magic trail left in Greece, which had suspiciously, according to Dolohov, retreated near the city of Preveza. Of course, Dolohov’s suspicions were correct—the signature on the cloth he had salvaged from his Greek excursion was indeed reminiscent of Dark Magic, but one could not tell after the Dark Lord’s many endeavours that made himself more and more powerful-especially now that he was Merlin knows what after the Potter incident.

In conclusion, the meeting only proved influence of Dark magic and the non-existent proof of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Yet, upon the return to Hogwarts to his chambers in the dungeons, he immediately flooed Albus and stressfully explained his predicament. Albus had entered his chambers, Pensieve in his wrinkled hands and all but demanded Severus’s memory.

After Albus returned from the memory, they stressfully examined the situation. Albus had made fit to, shockingly, indulge Severus with the knowledge of Harry Potter’s address, apparently in Surrey, Little Whinging (A fitting name for Petunia’s terrible character), which the Headmaster had fiercely guarded, causing Severus to both take pride and apprehension on the gravity of the situation. Albus had sternly told Severus to tread carefully around Rowle—he was one of the cleverest Slytherin in his year, told Albus.

Albus had then, gotten up from the settee and cupped Severus’s cheek, to the dour man’s surprise, and gently caressed it. “Your path is hard, my brave boy, but I hope you find a balm to buffer to your worries. Occlumency is, and as you know very well, a mere block to emotions, not as you said—a stress reliever. I am always here for you, my boy, and you would do well to remember that when you are greatly distressed, even with trivial matters. It may be your balm, Severus.”

Severus’s throat had suddenly constricted painfully with unaccustomed emotion and he turned his head towards the bookshelf practically clogged with his tomes. He took three calming breaths and Occluded, and turned back to Albus and rested a hand on his mentor’s wrinkled hand that rested on his cheek.

“Of course, Albus. I trust you. It’s… a hard habit to break, you might say.”

Albus had merely sighed, suddenly looking very, very old. He retracted his hand and searched Severus’s face for a few moments before bidding Severus a good night and flooing back to his office.

The next day, a tawny owl with the crest of the House of Rowle arrived stating to attend every following meeting somehow.

He agreed. Albus, did not. But Severus couldn’t be bothered. He shouted at Albus—he lived merely for Lily’s boy, salvaging his atonement. Albus merely ran a hand through his beard and retorted with the fact that Albus Dumbledore cannot be so easily fooled—for his Potions Master has to leave the castle for three consecutive nights. It was summer and one might think a Potions Master might have some time away from the dunderheads, snapped Severus. Albus stated it was a plot, Severus could only say hang it all. Albus said there was no way the Death Eaters could find the boy, but Severus argued that no boy, especially one with Potter’s blood, would always stay cooped up in the house. Albus said he’d send a letter to Petunia, Severus thought that if a simple letter could tell Petunia Evans off, then he was a hippogriff.

“Severus, try to understand— “

“Albus, I won’t. The boy’s life is in our hands.”

“But— “

“You can strengthen the wards by the radius when I come back with their words. Please, Albus…”

Albus heaved a heavy sigh, one that made him instantly wither and gestured Severus to do what he intended with a flourished, wrinkled hand. Severus whipped around, his greasy hair suddenly bouncing across his now flushed cheek, as he made for the door.

These meetings were going to make him curse the existence of Potters more than ever.

The following day, he was tense. So tense, that the dour man couldn’t do more than wear his black robes and nurse a cup of firewhiskey. To hell with lesson plans. To hell with his experimental potions. Severus prided himself on his methodical lesson plans that he would schedule and finish off by the end of the first month of summer.

He was halfway done, but now that the meetings about the boy had popped up, he could literally burn his plans for all he cared as he merely wished to drink till he couldn’t function—which he knew Albus wouldn’t allow. He quickly cast the spell that cancelled the smell of the drink, and rose out of his couch to exit his chambers.

Minerva, that damned cat, had somehow sat next to him for breakfast, instead of Filius, and in a rare show of concern to the Head of Slytherin, rubbed his forearm, and asked why he was so wound up.

He flinched unintentionally and scowled at the look of concern his ex-professor was showing him. Prying her fingers of his arm, he glared and told her that he was running out of time for a certain potion that he could not place on stasis as he did not know its effect on it. Minerva softened and soon, gave him a stern look and pestered him to eat more sugar to keep him more energized for his ‘potions vigil.’

“Damn you, Minerva,” he growled when she placed a sugar coated croissant on his plate, making his stomach clench in absolute disgust. “This is far too much sugar for a _potions vigil_. I was just tensed!”

Minerva smirked. “Well, we mustn’t be rude and leave our food to waste, no?”

He could feel Albus’s twinkle and all the other eyes on him as he grumbled through the undeniably sickening sugary pastry, tension decapitated.

Unbeknownst to the youngest Potion Master of England, Minerva had been observing her former student for the past few days, and whether the boy knew or not, Minerva knew he was jumpy for the past few days—apparently Death Eater meetings, said Albus when she had asked him. It had struck her as a curious matter, as Severus was the last person to openly project discomfort in his situation, and asked Albus the matter of the meetings. He raised a hand in a gesture of defence, and told her it was only between him, Severus and the Death Eaters and could put her in a precarious position if explained to.

But Albus, with a twinkle in his blue eyes, asked whether Minerva could ‘settle’ his nerves tomorrow, as Severus was indeed, being sent into a hard-pressed Death Eater situation. Minerva, with these years, learnt much about Severus’s past from Albus himself, (of course, Severus would never know) and had grown a soft spot as well as a tinge of guilt for never having interfered with the Marauders. She usually, had nothing to banter about during the summer with Severus when she was around, and generally kept the conversation as civil as she could with the young man that was always cooped up within Hogwarts and his lab.

Naturally, she agreed to make him feel better for the next few days. It was Severus, after all.

And she couldn’t help but smile at the rest of the teachers, who were watching their banter happily, and smirk when she heard Severus curse at her precociousness.

The boy, she knew, was pushing himself very hard, and she would finally be there for the little, hurt Slytherin boy that grew to be the brilliant and snarky Potion Master that she worked with.

And with that thought, Minerva playfully tweaked Severus’s ear, to which he violently startled to, causing the table to burst out laughing. The man, after choosing a few choice curses at her way, got up and brushed his dark robes, and excused himself with a flourish only the graceful bat of the dungeon’s possessed.

* * *

“Enter!”

Severus stood still as Albus’s office door opened on its own. With a deep breath, he entered the office determined to get over the conversation of the second consecutive meeting.

“Albus.”

The Headmaster, after a good minute of staring Severus up to down, consequently making Severus highly uncomfortable, frowned.

“Severus, I will not lie. You do not look well.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at that.

“The meetings take place during the night. I haven’t slept.”

Albus then removed his half-moon spectacles, and rubbed his face with the other hand. The old man’s sudden vulnerability made Severus mentally kick himself. A gesture to sit on the chair opposite to him followed, making Severus to follow through.

The chair, Severus thought, was highly uncomfortable.

“Severus,” started Albus, “you must realise that it is indeed, the summer vacation. Many know that I am not one to up and leave for a holiday when I hold Hogwarts so close to my heart…must you go so diligently? And what could I possibly be doing catching up with family? Aberforth is in Hogsmeade…why would I suddenly attend to him when he is of prim health and conscious?”

It was Severus’s turn to rub his face. Albus’s eyes weren’t twinkling and he was looking all the years that he had lived through, making Severus groan and hold his face in his hands.

_Miserable._

“Severus, my boy?”

“He persists to convince me of the boy’s death.” His voice may have been muffled, and he might have not been meeting Albus’s eyes, but he knew Albus knew what he had said as he heard an audible sigh from the man.

“Child, look at me.” Severus raised his head at the gentle order. Only Albus and Lily could rouse and comfort him.

_One comfort dead by my hands, and her son shortly._

“Harry Potter will not be affected as long as he stays inside the house with Petunia Dursley, and before you say anything, I still had to warn the Dursleys, no? The boy, according to Petunia, follows his Uncle’s rules diligently for the fear of certain consequences. She assures little Harry will listen. Petunia may not like the Wizarding world, but she cares about her family enough.”

“In short, she assured me that Harry would not be outside for a good two weeks, which is excessive, I understand, but it is a small concession for his safety.”

Severus could feel the start of a pounding headache, yet he forced himself to keep his tone neutral.

“What should I do now?”

Albus drummed his fingers on his desk while the other hand propped the spectacles back on his crooked nose.

“You must trust me, Severus.”

“Albus— “

“No, you will not argue with me any longer. You will attend tomorrow’s meeting and inform them that the Headmaster plans to spend two weeks at Hogwarts with his staff as his catching up of his family, as you put it, ended quicker than expected.”

“But— “

“You will then spend two days sleeping and eating properly, which Minerva has complained about as well, and only then will we talk about Harry.”

Severus nearly growled. “You’re the Supreme Mugwump! Headmaster of Hogwarts! Surely two weeks will carry _some_ work!”

Albus gave Severus a mischievous grin, with his usual twinkling eyes which both settled but unnerved him.

_Bloody Gryffindors._

The Headmaster bounced a lemon sherbet in his hand.

“Ah, but after all these years of work at the Wizengot surely has given me some pent up holiday rewards, hm?” Albus, looking far less worn and definitely up to something, made Severus slap a hand across his forehead and sigh.

“You…you are sure they’ll stop pursuing the boy in these two weeks?”

Albus turned his twinkling eyes to the many trinkets on the left side of his office.

“That orb…do you see that?”

Severus turned his head to look at the particular object. He would never admit it, but the curiosity of Albus’s trinkets and gadgets was something that would never leave him.

The object in particular was a small, gold sheened ball encased around another orb—transparent. Both seemed to be working as the encasing orb spun in the opposite direction as the transparent gold orb inside. But the apparatus was not too large, only around the size of a first year’s cauldron. The other trinkets around the levitating sphere were strangely spread away from it, as if the orbs served far more important things.

In fact, Severus’s usual favourite trinket to view, the Magnifying Torrent, a long, levitating ornate glass stick that could easily identify one’s magical presence that resulted in a colour that emerges and surrounds—unique to every magical person, (Severus’s colour, much to his delight, was a warm, olive green), seemed to pushed back and was levitating a good distance away from the orbs. The Obscurifying Orbit and the one other object he had no knowledge of was also pushed back.

He cast a curious glance to Albus.

The Headmaster crossed his arms and rested a wrinkled palm on his cheek and nodded towards the orb, gesturing Severus to look back.

“I had requested a good friend of mine, Nicolas Flamel, yes, the same alchemist of the Philosopher’s Stone-- to make such a device after I secured the blood protection over Petunia and little Harry. The orb—Nicolas did not name it—after all, it only signals the working of the blood wards…hm…I daresay ‘Harry’s Orb’ sounds far too bland…”

Albus stroked his long, silver beard in thought.

“You may inform your associates about the existence of such a trinket in my possession and the working of it. Tell them…I suspect Harry’s involvement in their plans and that I’ve told you about this gadget—Harry’s Orb turns red if he is in mortal peril, you see. Tell them…that I’ve been expecting their conversation at one point or another…and my Potions Master seems to be constantly absent for the past two days after I hm…returned from visiting Aberforth, yes…it is half the truth after all…”

Severus blanched as his knotted his fingers together.

“How long have you known about this impending _conversation_?” Severus snapped.

_Death sentence rather conversation._

Albus quirked an eyebrow at him as he kept stroking his beard. “Ever since James and Lily died and Voldemort,” Severus shivered involuntarily,” lost his powers, of course. It was inevitable ever since the Death Eater Trials, Severus. Rowle—I had not expected him to escape through Malfoy’s Imperious Curse story…he was, alongside Lucius, the most persuasive boy I’ve ever had the honour of meeting…I suspect Lucius had helped him through, and that itself kept my thoughts on baby Harry.”

Severus was trying not to give into his urge to shiver like mad. The Death Eater trials…he couldn’t remember much but being pushed around by Albus and Occluding like a mad man to prevent himself from blubbering about Lily and how he deserved to die. He only remembered afterwards that Malfoy and a few others like Yaxley and the Carrows, got through the Imperious Curse story.

Upon the first _potluck_ of his fellow associates five years ago, he found that new recruits had somehow increased. The Dark Lord’s presence, it hit him, did not need to be there to initiate the encouragement, no, only to intimidate and bark orders. These new recruits were a stubborn bunch of absolute dunderheads that decided that they would rather sell their lives to the branded rather than the Master.

A shaky breath. “I did not think it was so…obvious.”

Albus gave a little chuckle. “He is, as you so kindly state quite often, Potter spawn. I did not find it surprising that you forgot about our little Harry after I told you that he was under blood protective wards with a relative. I must apologize, you were still young and getting used to me…I did not want to put Harry’s pressure on you from the beginning.”

Severus did not hide the wince that came after he heard _our little Harry._ As if he had taken part in _child-rearing_ the Potter brat alongside the Supreme Mugwump.

He suddenly felt a hysterical urge to snort, which he fortunately, tapped down as quickly it began.

The way Albus put it…Merlin, he sounded so _childish_. Potter’s boy made him constantly cringe, for he represented the existence of a life he could never have. He was getting _used to Albus_ , and the Potter boy would’ve gotten in between it all? His pride, he felt, was quivering in anticipation to shatter into several pieces. Was Albus actually finding him hard? What else has Albus hidden in fear or breaking their trust?

_A miserable, greasy toddler._

He ran a hand through said greasy strands. “I…I shall say what you suggest.”

He refused to look at Albus as he could feel Albus’s face growing soft. With an exaggerated sigh, which sparked Severus’s anger, but only so, Albus moved out of his chair and towards Severus.

He had to meet Albus’s eyes though, as Albus had placed two fingers under Severus’s chin to meet his eyes. The azure blue to the ivory black made Severus feel so very uncomfortable but strangely, reassuring. Legelimency wasn’t required for Albus--he knew exactly what to say to Severus as he knew the frigid man far too well.

The twinkle in his eyes dimmed as it searched Severus’s face. “You are only twenty-seven and yet the youngest Potions Master of England as well as the Head of Slytherin. You’ve lost the one you so dearly loved to the boy you despised, but you live for her as well, with the greatest capability to love, I daresay. You joined Tom’s ideologies out of the hateful vengeance over your father to soon, discourage and retaliate against it for both Lily and in understanding. I’ve said this before, my brave boy, but you refuse to back down when it weighs on you. A balm, Severus, not Occlumency. You may not have any friends to trust, but you have me, do you not?”

Severus could feel his cheeks flush with the gush of such sappy words, causing Albus to smirk and Severus to scowl. But neither broke eye contact, even as Albus placed another hand on Severus’s shoulder.

“I do not offer my trust and compassion so lightly, Severus…I admit, your first impression had appalled me, but seeing the young man you are now through all that you’ve never once said or shown, makes me so, so, so negligent as well. You know Gellert and my trust in him, hm? Aberforth and Ariana, yes?” A nod from the Severus against the fingers. “I’ve only spoken about such a topic to a select few…the few I trust my life with, my child. Those few are estranged, dead or in their own prison, at the moment. I love you as my own, though I am only as human and morose as you—I do not deserve to give love after Ariana…but you, my boy, oh you deserve far more. I can only love you, nothing more. If there are things I hide from you, it is only to give you comfort…you’ve been working as much as me for the past month, if you must know, and it troubles me to see the young in another war. Little Harry…poor boy, he’ll be swept in it soon enough. But please, Severus, I do not think to hide things to burden me, no, rather to refuse to see trouble befall you sooner than later. You and I seem to share the same many problems, but we try to work through them, no? I will always tell you what I know at the end, which I do not even do with Minerva, my boy, and if that doesn’t show you my trust, then you may consider me a hippogriff in heat over sentimental bygones long gone.”

Severus snorted as Albus chuckled. The fingers under Severus’s chin made its way to his cheek where a palm caressed the sallow skin.

He wouldn’t ever admit it, no, he’d take it to the grave, but Albus saying such things always made Severus feel as if the good part of his mother had returned—chasing away thoughts about his father’s next drunken rage and beatings. The feeling of complete trust and safety that even his mother could only cautiously provide with the emotional words and teasing…it was Albus that gave him more than he deserved. What could Severus, the greasy dungeon bat who spewed vitriol of rage at the students, bordering verbal abuse, possibly deserve more of? He was caustic, and terribly brought up. He held pride in being Slytherin and only his Slytherins and was ambitious to the point that it destroyed him.

And Albus still _cared_ for him…like his own, he said.

Before Severus could understand the sudden tightness in his throat, a burst of flame behind Albus startled Severus violently, causing Albus to drop his hand and sigh.

“Fawkes…”

Only when the phoenix settled on Albus’s shoulder, crying, did Severus’s heart rate calm.

“Silly bird, my upset and troubles cannot be cured by your tears...” As Albus said the last word, the phoenix threw its attention on the dark-haired man on the chair and cocked its head.

Severus curtly nodded, tightness mellowing. “Fawkes.”

The phoenix trilled notes of encouragement, the sound positively shrill and warbled, but soothing, instantly making Severus calm with a sense of clarity rather than Occlumency.

The fiery bird swooped down on Severus, and to both men’s astonishment, perched on Severus’s lap, with wings spread wide and flapping.

With only owls for aviary experience, Severus stroked Fawkes’s cocking head, while the bird ruffled its wings and folded them into itself.

Severus sent a questioning look towards Albus while Albus merely crossed his arms behind him, and looked upon the sight in a fond manner.

“He’s finally taken a liking to you…only took him six years, hm?”

Fawkes trilled once again against Severus’s long and gentle fingers, and butted them before hopping of the thin knees and flying straight at Albus’s extended arm.

Albus started cooing at the phoenix, causing Severus to break out of his stupor. He cleared his throat, tightness completely gone, and stood up from his chair.

“I’ll take my leave now, Albus.”

Albus smiled wholly and nodded. “Take some rest, my boy. You have a long day tomorrow.”

With another nod, Severus gracefully turned towards the door, making his dramatic exit with his billowing, dark robes. Only then did the Headmaster remember that he had not seen such a scene for the past two days, making the old man suddenly full of love for the Slytherin he called his own.

* * *

“Ah, Snape, we were wondering where you were.”

Rowle’s slimy words rolled through that persuasive mouth like grease on a rusting iron.

Methodically.

Severus, clenching his jaw, stalked into the room and immediately pulled out the chair, and sat on the ornate cushioning surface.

Rowle Manor wasn’t much different from Malfoy Manor, no, but it had more cool undertones—signalling the existence of a lonely, manic man, whereas Lucius’s home, as much as it was dreary, signalled the existence of familial bonds and perhaps, even love.

_As much as Albus coddles me, we lot are just a dreary, ostracised bunch with lethal amounts of neglect and ignorance._

He quickly scanned the table, and found the absence of Lucius. He hadn’t cared much of the boy’s life, but he was the only one who had told and agreed with Severus—there was no need for the boy’s imminent death.

Quickly subduing the feeling of distress, he faced his host, and curtly nodded.

“Rowle. We’ve seemed to run into a problem.” He wasn’t one to dance around a demanding topic.

Rowle’s eyes gleamed for a moment, and quickly vanished, while the other Death Eaters looked upon the Potion Master with apprehension.

Severus idly played with his wand, not hiding his discomfort. They might think the information to be threatening to them, but Severus had to make sure he had to ply his words signal truth. This was far more discomforting than he realised.

Rather unnerving that Albus had called Rowle ‘one of the most persuasive boys’ he had the honour of meeting.

“It seems…the old man took a two-week holiday from all his duties for the summer, save being a Headmaster, and took it upon himself to showcase his knowledge of the Potter boy to me.”

A collective gasp resounded. Rowle slowly stood from his ornate seat at the head.

“Go on.”

“He had predicted that the Potter boy’s death was something we would’ve brought up. He has no idea that I indulged or know that such a conversation has occurred,” he lied, “but he warned me that should the topic arise that I am meant to convey his intentions to you all. In fact, he expects me to have told you this tonight,” he drawled with a sneer. The last sentence rang true, hopefully churning the same ringing in the rest of his words.

“He has procured a gadget—made by Nicolas Flamel himself, that signals the blood wards at wherever Potter remains in residence— “

“He did not seem fit to confide within you of the whelp’s _residence_?” He could hear the accusation slice through the words.

With a glare at the stocky host, Severus ploughed forward. “He found _fit_ to inform me that he intends to keep that information _away_ from me—he believes it will keep both me and the boy safe, though by Circe, he seems to be getting along with his lunacy day by day. _Now_ ,” the new recruits flinched on his stern clamp—something he used on his students.

“It is an encased sheer, gold orb around a larger, transparent one. They rotate in opposite directions, all the while levitating. It turns red when the boy is in mortal peril, which has happened three times in total, according to Dumbledore, and had quickly disappeared in a matter of seconds. His death will shatter the orb, which is tuned through Legelimency in the old codger’s memory, so no matter where or what the man’s doing, the orb’s shatter will most definitely ring through the man’s deteriorating mind. Any thoughts?”

Severus, as he was buttoning up his robe that morning, had heard the sound of a whoosh of heat from his living room in his chambers—usually ignited by a first year dunderhead. He rushed in, confused and panicked and found Fawkes crooning on his sofa. He found the letter tied on Fawkes’s foot, and while stroking the fiery, teasing creature, he read through the mechanics of said ‘Harry’s Orb,’ the three strokes of mortal peril and the process of linkage of such a device to Albus’s memory, which, Albus correctly guessing Severus’s excitement on such powerful knowledge, promised to teach, so long as he bought the old man a new pair of ‘one-of-a-kind’ socks for his birthday in August, which Severus had never indulged—but the old man played well; he was most definitely buying overgrown children’s socks for the barmy, old man for this new branch of Legelimency.

Severus nearly snorted at the intense look of concentration on Crabbe’s face across from him—nothing usually passed through the thick numbskull’s head, but the furrowed brow made him wonder if he was a miracle giver.

He heard Rowle’s unceremonious thump into his seat, over the chattering of the rest, causing him to slowly turn his head towards the strangely defeated man in confusion and slight apprehension, and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

Rowle let out a heavy sigh, and plastered a smile. “Well,” he nearly shouted, causing the room’s noise to immediately quench, “I will think on the matter further. Thank you, Snape.” He inclined his head towards Severus to which Severus nodded back in acknowledgement.

_This man is certainly planning more than thinking._

Goyle started a discussion on a new Dark text he found while roaming Preveza, which thankfully, diverted the calculating gaze of Rowle away from him. Severus welcomed this discussion—he was fond of such texts and the concept of Magical Theory behind the Dark Arts as a young boy, and now, he indulged in the mere theory of the existence of such crippling magic in the world through tomes.

After a heated discussion between him and a younger pureblood man—Caplet, he overheard—debating about the use of Dark Magic in the possibility of forcible Animagus transformation, Yaxley had rung his booming voice-stating that day was fast approaching and the meeting had to be wrapped up soon.

Rowle, as a pureblood host, toasted a glass of an empty glass of wine, signalling an affirmation of dismissal.

Severus, continuing to state the point to the bloody Hufflepuff that had approached him immediately after darting out of his seat—that such bodily transformations had to be intentional…after all Dark Magic starts and ends with intention.

Caplet had just started to call Severus an unflattering name, when he heard Rowle say, “Snape? Would you mind if I discussed a few things in private?”

A surge of trepidation darted through Severus’s spine. Whipping his head back and nodding to Rowle, he strode over to the chair that Rowle was gesturing towards—one right next to him.

A small flitter of amusement filled the Potion Master as he heard the grumbling of the Hufflepuff and the groaning and shutting of the large, wooden door of the meeting room.

He raised an eyebrow in question to Rowle raising from his seat, and using his wand to quickly mutter a spell to banish the glasses of wine, rather than calling a house elf.

Rowle chuckled at his actions and languidly gestured to him. “A man of random habit in times of distraught,” he simply stated.

Severus placed a hand on his wand, that laid beneath his robes, unnoticed by the stocky man.

_Out of habit._

“Of course. Now, what was it?”

The man heaved a heavy sigh and gracefully walked to the large, ornate window, that overlooked most of Wiltshire.

“Dumbledore is quite a parasite.”

Severus gave a dry laugh. “Quite.”

The man’s indigo robes flared as he snapped back to Severus, with his eyebrows inched up.

“I expected him to be more forthcoming, Snape. He is leeching more information from us, than we are from him.”

Severus’s eyes flared with anger as he let his wand be toyed in front of the man.

“He only knew what I told him, and which all of you know about. The fact that I could glean the information of the Potter whelp’s protection was quite a feat. It takes years of trust for an old man to give information that he would’ve taken to the grave with,” he said, gritting his teeth. Severus, though enraged at the accusation, could feel his anxiety simmering in the pools of stomach.

Rowle narrowed his eyes at Severus, his hands behind his back, which could only signal the man’s wand was being restrained on will. Severus’s hold on his wand tightened as he scowled back at the man, arms still firmly at his sides.

“I find it very… _convenient_ …that he decided to divulge information of this boy now, of all times.”

Severus’s eyes flared with anger as he stared down at the man, currently smirking at him.

“ _You dare accuse me of aiding Dumbledore?_ ” he roared, as he drew his wand at Rowle.

The man’s face tightened with equal fury.

“ _Yes_ ,” he spat, “you gave too much away. In fact, I believe you willingly did. None of us are as trained in Occlumency as you are, and I would completely agree that Dumbledore is hiding things from us through you.” Rowle drew his wand at the furious Potion Master.

Severus was stricken. He was angry, oh furious, with the situation—but anger kicked in when he couldn’t deal with other emotions—such as the overwhelming sense of fear that lapped through him, which of course, was getting harder and harder to tap down.

_No, this cannot be happening._

Before he could spit a tirade of lies at the man, Rowle wordlessly casted a Stunning spell, that knocked Severus to the opposite wall and bound him frozen, pain flaring through his back, and the back of his head.

Through a blur of tears, a hiss and a matter of seconds, he quickly made out that Rowle had discovered a variation of Petrificus Totalus that was cast in a very similar manner as a Stunning spell, and even felt like one—sluggish and blocking his magic.

“Ungrateful half-blood,” he heard Rowle hawk as he approached Severus’s frozen and pained form, “if you so happen to be doing just what I accused you of, I can only administer you a tortured death, and believe me, _Snape_ , I can make you scream and yell till you call for death just as the Dark Lord can.”

Severus’s mind was in override. What could he do? He was trapped, stunned and frozen in a body bound spell against a wall of Rowle’s Manor that was highly impenetrable and wound with a mixture of Light and Dark wards.

Severus could only fret.

_I’m going to die, oh dear Merlin…Lily…Albus…I’m so sorry…_

“Did you like that spell?” he could hear the man smirk. “I presented that spell to the Dark Lord for my branding. He was immensely pleased…to see him learn the spell from me…ah, what an honour.”

Severus knew that his eyes were darting around the room, just to see if there was any hope that would crash through the wooden door and save his cover and sorry hide.

“Listen, _traitor_. _Imobulus_.”

Severus’s eyes froze on Rowle’s face and panic was taking over him.

He couldn’t blink.

“The Dark Lord…he taught me privately, see. A little spell that I thought I might as well make use of in this situation…”

Severus’s eyes were burning. He wanted to scream at the man to kill him like a true wizard, one to duel for. But he quickly remembered, he was a traitor and this man was alone, suicidal and ready to torture.

Severus’s eyes involuntarily welled up with tears and fogged. Rowle’s wand touched Severus’s temple and the Severus’s panic was making his breaths through his large nose, erratic.

_Kill me…please…Lily…_

“Hm…let’s try it shall we? _Legilimens._ ”

Severus’s eyes must’ve been on Rowle’s through his tears as Rowle mercilessly tore through his mind, and the variation of the Stupefy spell preventing him from Occluding.

His head throbbed and pierced him as Rowle tore through the memory of his desperate plea to Albus.

 _A double crossing traitor_ , he heard Rowle spit, _even I’m disgusted by your actions, you coward._

Severus’s eyes felt as if they were literally screaming. He watched through increasing amounts of pain as Rowle tore through his memories.

_The old man coddled you far too much…you deserve nothing more than a slow, torturous death, you despicable mudblood lover._

He watched with utter despair and pain as Rowle relived the memory of Albus giving out the address and memory of Potter’s residence while Rowle continued to spew vitriol through his torturous end of life.

Rowle’s words, though, tore a burst of something that seemed to well inside his chest on the increasing pain his eyes were beating with as well as the indignation of being found it. With a guttural shout, magic surged through him, only strong enough for him to put up his barriers—which were strong enough for Rowle, as he quickly lost his concentration and stumbled just enough for Severus to shove the man out of his mind.

The burst of accidental magic, he quickly put together, allowed him to finally get the reprieve of blinking his eyes, which caused a searing burn that was quickly put out, to Severus’s piling relief.

The kneeling Rowle was panting, furiously, on all fours, and snapped his manic brown eyes at Severus’s, which Severus took complete advantage of.

The magic was completely back, and with a wordless, wandless Legilimens, he proceeded to rip through Rowle’s mind, where he found the magical will of Rowle that held him immobile and proceeded to tear it thoroughly, including the memories of the formation of such a spell. The man let loose a raw scream, that tore Severus from the wall, and without another thought, he immediately pounced upon the man—he knew Rowle hadn’t and couldn’t move through the pain.

He kicked the man in between his legs as he pinned the wizard—causing Rowle to moan in pain.

The pain must’ve given Rowle the sudden conscious to call out a name.

“ _Morby!_ ” Severus tore memory after memory of today, starting with his arrival to into Rowle’s hall, while Rowle yelled the name.

And to his utter horror, the currently yelling man gasped through pained breaths and said one sentence.

“Number 4, Privet Drive…Little Whinging…Sur…rrey…”

Severus quickly retreated from the man’s mind as he heard a “Yes, Master Rowle,” and was immediately confronted with a pounding headache that blurred his sight.

He pinned his forearm to the man’s throat as the man deliriously muttered “Eleanor…” through clenched teeth.

Though the pain became overwhelming, he got up to his knees and let loose a non-verbal _Levicorpus_ , and quickly ran his options as the man who’s mind that was currently completely shredded wailed for ‘his master,’ upside down. It must be painful, thought Severus in a split second, as the blood had to rush into Rowle’s pounding head.

He didn’t have time to let himself be amused—Rowle had to die.

Severus quickly spun his wand in a slashing manner and cast _Sectumsempra_ thrice on the now howling man, one on his eyes, second on his chest and the third on his abdomen—making sure he pressured his magic to make the spell deep and gruelling. With staggering weight and pain that suddenly blossomed throughout Severus’s thin frame, making Severus’s eyesight suddenly blur and cause a sudden sensation of vertigo, he managed to get to his feet and steady his weight. He looked down at the bloody mess of Rowle, and quickly managed to find the man’s wand and snap it beneath his boot.

It was fitting, as he heaved precious breaths of air—seeing Rowle take his last breath to a spell he devised for the Dark Lord’s appreciation. Once the man shuddered his last, Severus had suddenly wished that whatever house elf he called upon could be here and died along with its master—the elf knew the Potter brat’s address and the last remaining Rowle was dead.

Severus, in a mode of panic, transfigured the chair he sat in into a long, silken white curtain, and quickly tossed it on the body of Rowle.

The last Rowle dead meant the mansion was suddenly penetrable as the Dark spells were woven around the man’s blood—so Severus could only think of one thing.

He had to protect Harry Potter.

Lily’s boy.

He Occluded quickly, dulling his unbearable pain, and thought of the sight of the unobtrusive house, on Privet Drive that Albus had shown him, and with a scream of agony, he disapparated on spot from the now much lonelier but foreboding Rowle Manor, praying that whatever the elf managed to do for its now dead master, had not reached the boy.

* * *


	2. Protection

Harry woke to his heart pounding heavily against his chest and sweat dripping down his forehead. Stuffing a fist in his mouth, he quickly looked around his surroundings to affirm that he was indeed, in his cupboard under the stairs, Timothy’s web was still on the left corner and his tattered blue blanket was still over his knees.

It was that nightmare again. The screaming, green light and _awful_ laughing. As usual with this dream, he woke up pleading and sobbing.

With a hammering heart, he quickly flung the blanket off and scrambled to the door of his cupboard to put his ear to the door.

No Uncle Vernon.

He let out a relieved breath and silently made his way back to his stiff mattress.

It had been a few days since his Uncle put him in his cupboard— ‘indefinitely,’ he had said. Harry didn’t know what that meant, but he knew something freaky had happened because Aunt Petunia had surprisingly, explained his punishment as a ‘freakish protection.’

The last time ‘freaky’ was in a conversation was when he turned Mrs. Smith’s wig blue in Year One. Of course, he was the ‘troubled kid’ at school with a ‘devilish condition’ according to his Aunt and Uncle that had been inculcated ever since his parents started doing drugs and drinking. Harry, though he knew that he was nowhere near Mrs. Smith—he had been sitting in his usual desk, three seats from the back. None of the teachers liked Harry, save for one who died from a heart attack three days after she started teaching.

Mrs. Smith was busy fawning over his cousin Dudley’s homework, though Harry had done it all the previous night in his cupboard, and had to switch with Dudley’s horrible homework—as usual, of course.

Harry had suddenly felt so very sad looking at how Mrs. Smith patted Dudley’s huge head and thought about the time he had hugged his Aunt Petunia when he was four—copying Dudley after school one day. His Aunt had slapped him and sent him to his cupboard, saying that Harry was ‘seeking attention so that he could stay on their good sides.’ He remembered crying the whole night.

So as he had balefully stared at his cousin’s flabby cheeked get pinched by Mrs. Smith, maths sums neglected, Clara Shire’s shrill scream had startled them both.

“Mrs. Smith! Your hair’s turned all _blue_!”

The class had broken into frantic hisses as Mrs. Smith had ran over to her purse to check on her hair. Harry had never had friends because of Dudley and Harry Hunting, so he knew that whatever had happened—everyone would point at him. He was the freak—the troubled kid that did things randomly and had no one to say that he never did.

Mrs. Smith had been so angry, remembered Harry. She had dragged Harry by his neck to the principal and had demanded a two-day suspension which the principal sternly agreed to. Harry had immediately paled when they said his Aunt and Uncle were to be called over.

Aunt Petunia’s horse-like face had been in an unnatural shade of purple while Uncle Vernon had his chubby face in a terrifying cherry-shade of red while his bushy moustache quivered in rage.

Harry had started shivering when his Uncle had irately hissed into his ear that he was going to be _properly disciplined_ once they would have gotten home.

“It was only inevitable that he finally showcased his deplorable behaviour!” spat Aunt Petunia to the principal in her nasally tone.

“My sister and her freaky husband were good-for-nothing layabouts with no sense of _normal_ behaviour. They had drugged and drank themselves to oblivion and had finally ended up _blown up_ in a car crash, with him—yet _he_ survived, and we knew that—no thanks to his deplorable parentage— we would be dealing with a _troubled case._ ”

His Uncle and Aunt had spent a good thirty minutes condensing all of Harry’s misdeeds. Mrs. Smith had even praised his Aunt for her ‘generosity’ on taking on such a ‘miscreant.’ Harry couldn’t follow much after that, but all he knew as he ducked his head in shame, was that he was suspended and that he was going to be punished once he got home.

Once Dudley was let out of class for the day, his Aunt and Uncle had hauled the boys in the car and drove them home.

Harry had hated that drive home. It didn’t help that Dudley was constantly shoving and taunting him that whole ride home.

As his uncle had forewarned, he had gotten belted against his cupboard as usual—fifteen stripes to squash his ‘freakishness’ while Uncle Vernon spat his belting tirade about his worthless parents and how they wouldn’t be able to even love a freak like him sober and so on.

Harry did not cry out. He had merely bit his lip to prevent the groans, and kept his arms raised above his head, leaning against the wall while his bare back was whipped by his Uncle.

The welts, he had known, weren’t going to go away for at least three days.

He had had known the Rules: Do not complain. Do not snivel, do not skive from your chores, do not question, do not bring your freakishness in the house, and most importantly, do not hurt their _Duddikins_.

He had brought the freakishness to his family that day. He had assumed it was the blue wig, though he had no idea how that came about. But he knew better than to talk back to his Uncle.

Uncle Vernon had once told him when he had finally gotten the hang of perfectly cooked bacon strips for the family that Harry couldn’t help being freaky—it’s the condition his parents had passed to him.

Yet, he knew it was dangerous to the Dursley’s and that it _could_ hurt Dudley, and the last time he accidently punched Dudley in his fat face, he had been belted and sent to his cupboard for three days—skipping school and only let out for his chores and his one meal a day (usually it was two, but it was punishment that time). He did not want anything to hurt Dudley, no—those three days were miserable.

Those days were _so_ miserable that he had to keep reminding himself like his Uncle and Aunt would say it—a condition of trouble passed on from his vile parents. He had silently cried and rocked himself to sleep both nights, cursing his rotten luck with the vilest parents to have ever had existed.

But presently, as Harry stared at the ceiling of his cupboard, his arms under his head—he noticed that he could not go to sleep after that awful nightmare and had the disgusting and foreign feeling of boredom. He was not in trouble, no, but under freaky protection that he had no idea about or why he needed them.

It was quite silly to Harry as a few days ago, an owl had shot out of the fireplace as he was cleaning the soot and though it mucked up the carpet, the small little owl with a fat envelope tied around its small leg, shot towards Aunt Petunia who had screeched on seeing the dirty creature.

Dudley had started guffawing loudly while Harry had stifled his giggles. Uncle Vernon had then clambered from upstairs on Aunt Petunia’s scream and had shot Harry a filthy look—as if it was his fault. But Harry knew it wasn’t! Aunt Petunia was right there, drinking her tea on the sofa!

Surprisingly, after reading the letter, they had immediately called a ‘family meeting’ which surprisingly, involved Harry, explaining that Harry isn’t to leave the house because of dangerous freaky criminals around the neighbourhood. Dudley wasn’t to speak much of Harry and Harry wasn’t to leave the house, even for school!

It was meant to be for the family’s own good, his Uncle had said, though his puckered face showed that he didn’t really fancy it. In fact, his beady eyes kept locked on his ducked head, as if it was _Harry’s_ idea for the freaky protection.

Harry knew that it really _was_ about him when his Aunt had gotten up and had given him a look of pure loathing as she burnt the letter in the fireplace.

That didn’t make Harry feel good.

It nagged him for two straight days and he had almost asked his Aunt while he was scrambling the eggs. But he had shut his mouth immediately—he was freaky enough to be under these ‘freaky protections’ against people who’d ‘cultivate such freakishness’, as his Aunt had said. The Dursley’s deserved to not be bothered. He was, sadly, being a bigger burden than usual.

But why? What did Freaky Harry have to be protected from?

Maybe Aunt Petunia had heard from Jeddy—that weird icky Tesco man from last month, that stood near the back alley of the Tesco. He had spoken to Harry twice before—once, saying that his name was Jeddy and that he could help Harry carry the bags (which Harry had politely declined to), and the other time giving Harry a long hug, saying Harry was a pretty and handsome boy and that he was so strong lifting all the bags all by himself, making Harry blush—no one ever said things like that to him—not even batty (but sweet) Mrs. Figg. The third time, he had told Harry that he had a stash of free lollies from Tesco’s that he hadn’t thrown out towards the back, and Harry had followed him curiously. He had never had a lolly—Dudley took them all. Harry had gotten the strawberry lolly, yes, but Jeddy had asked him if he was cold, and Harry had merely shrugged. He wasn’t too cold in Dudley’s huge castoffs. Jeddy had suddenly touched and rubbed him in strange places that made Harry uncomfortable, hot and very, _very_ scared--and had decided after lying to Jeddy that he would come and see him again, that he would never go to Tesco’s and he would switch to the market farther away from it. He had gotten in trouble for taking a longer shower than usual the next day, but he felt so disgusting and he had known he would get in trouble if he told his family about it—it would be because of his freaky condition anyways—and what they wouldn’t know couldn’t hurt Harry. It was like stealing food from the fridge at night—what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right?

Was Mrs. Figg being ‘mean’ again? She was the only one that like Harry, though Harry had a hard time liking her back. She was his babysitter whenever his family went on a holiday or didn’t want him for the day, and he always had to brace himself for the distinct smell of cabbage when she would quickly open the door for him. She let Harry play with all the cats—eighteen in total, which Harry had thoroughly enjoyed—but it was always accompanied by the cat photo album of hers, which Harry though bored, would always listen patiently to, so that Mrs. Figg would smile and give him a tight hug. She would always kiss his lightning bolt scar on his forehead before he left—which disgusted his family so much, that they had once told Mrs. Figg that his horrible disfigurement from his parents’ demise isn’t something she should ‘coddle’ with. Harry might just decide to be freaky and that she would regret it. She had merely hmphed and closed the door. Though, Harry guiltily recalled the one time Mr. Tibbles had unexplainably floated into the litter box while Harry had tried to remove him off the settee he was scratching. Maybe she found out about that and told the Dursley’s? No, that can’t be…unless they’re protecting Mrs. Figg from _him_?

Harry felt so hurt that _he_ and his freakishness must be why poor Mrs. Figg had to be away from him. He normally was polite and nice, though Dudley, that fat blonde _piggy_ , would say otherwise.

Tears prickled at his eyes, and he flipped to his side, covering his blue blanket over his head. Why _him_? Why did he have to be born to his stupid parents? Because of them, he was made to wear clothes five times his size and glasses that were taped! He was _always_ made fun of and wasn’t allowed to have _friends_. Dudley got to be loved and he could _never_ be loved—because he couldn’t get the _freakishness_ squandered. And now look—sweet Mrs. Figg had to stay away from him!

_All my fault._

He took a broken soldier that he had nicked from Dudley’s second bedroom to soothe the sick feeling of being held (like a snivelling baby) and hugged it to his chest, silently sobbing.

It was just so unfair, mean and it really _hurt_.

Just as he pulled his emotions in and decided to tell Timothy the spider about his third day of freaky protection to make him feel better, a clanking sound came from the yard.

Harry froze, his green eyes darting around his cupboard.

No Uncle Vernon.

Fear gripped his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a ball, the soldier shaking in his knuckle-white grip.

Maybe someone here was sent to hurt him? What about the ‘freaky protection?’

Or maybe…

Harry slowly opened his eyes and willed his heart rate to stop. With a quick grab of one of his large shirts that was folded behind his small pillow, he swiftly pushed it through his head while the other hand fumbled to find his glasses. He crouched as he adjusted his glasses all the while adjusting his large jean trousers. He found his flashlight as he wrapped his belt for the third time around his waist.

Mr. Tibbles, though a ‘quarrelsome’ cat (according to Mrs. Figg), was the only cat and living thing that Harry had kissed and hugged.

The cat had always been so gentle.

The first time Harry had been babysat by Mrs. Figg when he was three, he was frightened by the population of cats at the batty lady’s house.

Mrs. Figg had dragged Harry onto her sofa and with a soft “Mr. Tibbles,” had gotten the gentle, grey furred creature to slowly sniff Harry’s trembling fingers and give his palm a friendly nudge. Mrs. Figg had then exclaimed happily that her ‘little baby’ never like people much, but had seemed enthralled by Harry (Mr. Tibbles had curled up on little Harry’s lap). She urged Harry to give Mr. Tibbles a cuddle, and with his three-year-old bravery, he had done just that—and feeling braver, had kissed the top of Mr. Tibbles head, like his Aunt would do to his piggy cousin. Mrs. Figg had positively squealed at the sight and had practically ran on her knobbly knees to get her camera.

Harry’s Aunt and Uncle were quite displeased on seeing Harry covered with cat hair, but their relief on having Harry out of the house had overridden it, so all Harry had to do was dust himself before coming in.

A few days later, Harry had found Mr. Tibbles out in the yard where he was weeding the said yard. It was evening, and the gentle creature and merely slinked through Harry’s ankles as he joyfully hugged and kissed Mr. Tibbles with his muddy hands.

Mr. Tibbles had made it a routine to visit Harry during the evenings or nights that he worked on the yard—and according to that schedule, today would’ve been yard work…but it was the wee hours…but he knew for a fact Mr. Tibbles never missed schedule…after all, he still appeared again and again even after all the punishments Harry had gone through.

Maybe this was his second check on punishment nights?

With that thought, Harry slowly opened the cupboard door, and quietly crawled out. He took a moment to blink and adjust to the darkness before he stood up and quickly padded toward the backdoor that was next to the kitchen.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, confirming that his family hadn’t heard him—he reached the door knob on his tips of his toes, torch secured under his arm, and slowly twisted the knob.

Harry, with a giddy smile, slowly shut the door behind him and quickly jumped from the porch on to the lawn, and crouched under the porch.

It felt like a whole _adventure_ for the six-year-old boy—something straight out of Narnia!

“Mr. Tibbles? Are you there?” he whispered, scanning the dark space.

He fumbled with the torch and banged the device against his knee a few times before turning it on, illuminating the now visible area. There was a blue ball, Harry’s gardening gloves, and a few newspapers that his Aunt had placed for Harry to use for cleaning when required. But to Harry’s amusement, Mr. Tibbles had used the newspapers as his little nest to wait on Harry for god knows how long. The grey cat would always stretch and pad over to Harry on his name.

And the said cat that was previously asleep on the nest of newspapers, suddenly awoke and blinked its amber eyes owlishly through the bright light.

Harry gave a little squeal as he placed the flashlight next to his knees. He outstretched his arms as the cat slinked over to him with a small meow. The boy closed his arms around the cat when Mr. Tibbles started nuzzling his chest.

Harry crossed his legs, and stroked Mr. Tibbles grey fur as he turned off the flashlight with his other hand.

“Hey, Mr. Tibbles. Did you miss me?” whispered Harry into Mr. Tibbles ear. “I know I missed you! I haven’t told you this, but I’m not ‘llowed to go to school for two weeks, yeah? I’m under ‘protection’ at home. It gets awfully boring doing all those chores and staying in that horrible cupboard.”

The grey cat purred into Harry’s hand as he chuckled at her antics.

“Yeah, you’re far more fun! Can I kiss you?” asked Harry as he hugged the meowing creature.

Harry giggled as Mr. Tibbles tail flicked Harry’s elbow. He bent quickly and gave a quick kiss to the top of Mr. Tibbles head, causing Mr. Tibbles to swat a paw at Harry’s cheek.

“Silly cat” said Harry, grinning. “You’re very silly. Did you know three days ago an owl came out of the fireplace? Yeah, it was a little scary, but it was really funny when it flew at Aunt Petunia! You should’ve seen it, Mr. Tibbles, it zoomed and flapped its wings and— “

Just as he started his hushed rambling about his days, a sound of a loud crack shocked Harry so much, that he ended up getting up so quickly making Mr. Tibbles to jump off his lap and loudly meow with indignation.

Harry, frozen with fear, looked at the amber eyes that were locked on his green ones. With a gentle flick of its tail, Mr. Tibbles gracefully turned and prowled towards the sound with the patience only a feline could muster.

With his heart in his throat, the boy made a decision. Harry started to follow the now hissing cat, slowly to the front of the house, holding his flashlight close to his chest.

He was absolutely terrified, but as it was his adventure, he deemed it safe that Mr. Tibbles was going with him as he had seen Mr. Tibbles scratch Dudley when he was four. Dudley had immediately started to wail and ran over to his Aunt at the sight of the small, bleeding cut, causing Aunt Petunia to have a ‘talk’ to Mrs. Figg about her cats.

As he slowly made his way to the front door through the tended bushes, Harry heard a voice cursing and a muffled topple.

The unexpected crash on the front door jolted Harry into his fear of his Uncle, and he suddenly started—losing his cover by shooting up straight from the bushed and quickly turning on the torch, shining it on the front porch.

Harry thought he might just have a heart attack.

A tall man with long, greased hair was leaning his back against the door, holding his temples with a thumb and a forefinger while the other arm had a long, dark stick in the hand of the panting stranger. The mas was in a black ensemble of a cloak or a dress which looked terrifying to Harry at that instant.

Like the criminals on television.

On Harry’s sudden appearance and light, the man’s eyes squinted and he quickly whipped his head to the side—cursing a little more audibly to the little boy’s ears.

Harry started to tremble.

Mr. Tibbles, who Harry had forgotten out of shock and fear, decided to make a hostile appearance.

Suddenly, the cat hissed at the stranger and lunged with outstretched claws at the man’s legs. The man had quickly raised his wand and let loose a bright light, causing Mr. Tibbles to mewl and drop on the porch unceremoniously. The man, Harry heard, kicked the feline, causing Mr. Tibbles to meow pitifully.

Mr. Tibbles let out another meow, more subdued, and scampered away by jumping over the fence.

Harry suddenly outraged at his only friend’s treatment, got very angry.

“Hey!” shouted Harry, as he held his torch higher at the man’s face. “Go away!”

The man whipped his head at Harry and as the dark eyes squinted, he knew the man saw his scar as he searched Harry’s face.

“Potter” he urgently said. “Oh, thank Merlin…alive…”

_He knew his name!_

The man suddenly made a move towards Harry, making the suddenly shocked and surprised boy to break out his stupor and quickly analyse the situation.

The boy immediately threw the flashlight at the man’s chest, causing the man to grunt.

“Potter” he hissed. “Listen, _foolish_ boy— “

“ _Go away!_ ” yelled Harry.

The man’s eyes flashed dangerously before Harry was suddenly upside down in the air with his screams completely muted.

* * *

 _That foolish miscreant_.

Severus had nearly passed out on his apparition to Potter’s residence and when the boy himself had blinded him with light, Severus nearly let out an inhuman growl from the sharp increase of the incessant throbbing of his headache.

The bloody cat had even made the boy start _yelling_ at him.

Clearly, the whole day was a lesson to Severus that he just had to start carrying around painkilling potions everywhere he went.

_What was the boy doing in the damn bushes? Didn’t Dumbledore’s letter warn Petunia enough?_

The boy was now dangling by his ankle and screaming silently due to Severus’s two non- verbal spells, and Severus took a moment to comprehend his situation.

No attack had been brought forth just yet. None who wished the boy harm could cross the wards.

He was safe here and so was Potter.

He crossed his arms, and looked at the flailing boy, whose eyes had suddenly started to well with tears as the glasses, Severus assumed, fell with a thunk on the porch.

With a sigh, Severus stepped closer to the hanging boy and crouched so that he could look at the boy’s eyes, which were streaming tears. Potter was mumbling something which Severus pointedly ignored.

He could see Lily’s bright green eyes reflecting in the dark and through the tears, making Severus’s heart clench. He could never stand Lily’s tears as a boy.

Yet, he reminded himself, this was more _Potter_ than Lily. The boy was only six.

Clearing his throat, he decided to address the situation to the troublesome boy.

“Listen to me, Mr. Potter. Your life as well as your family’s are in serious danger. I’ve been…sent to protect you. You must listen to everything I say. Not a single complaint or mischief from your side. _Understood_?”

Severus’s deadly whisper seemed to make the boy tremble even more, yet the boy quickly nodded his head to his chest.

He rose from his position and quickly flicked his hand inverting the boy and releasing the silencing spell. He still heard Potter crumple and hiccup as he rose.

Severus, silently watching the black silhouette of a far too small boy—rubbed his hand over his face. Potter, the boy may be, yet he was still a child, and this situation must be absolutely terrifying for a boy his age. A stranger on the porch telling a little boy his family’s lives were endangered.

Severus groaned internally as he knew he couldn’t handle the pre-pubescent children at Hogwarts. How was he going to handle a boy who was barely even seven years of age?

“What-who are y-you?” said a trembling small voice, garbled by fear.

The silhouette of strikingly, a four-year-old still shook, but straightened as it asked him.

Severus was stumped. How to proceed from here? Albus had even said the boy didn’t understand magic…what to do?

Tapping a finger on his wand, he came to a decision.

“Professor Severus Snape. You may address me as Professor Snape or simply, professor.”

The boy stood shock still.

“I mean you no harm, Mr. Potter,” said Severus a little more harshly then required.

The boy flinched violently at the tone, causing Severus to frown and mentally kick himself.

_A child, Severus._

The boy looked frantic and Severus thought it might be better to find better cover first before getting the boy to quit thinking of him as some sort of assaulter. Obliviating an eavesdropping Muggle would not go well to earn Potter’s trust.

“Mr. Potter, I’d rather not go inside at the moment, but is there a private—hmph, quiet, place to further converse—that is, talk?”

The boy shifted on his feet. “You-you pr-promise you won’t hi-hit me?”

“I swear I shall not hit you.” “Y-You promise to not t-take me an-anywhere?” asked an even smaller voice.

Should he? Severus honestly didn’t know.

“Mr. Potter, I will explain more once you and I are away from the open sight of people. Do you know of an area either inside or outside of the house where I wouldn’t have to run into your Aunt or Uncle just yet? I promise, I have much to speak to you, and you will understand. But I cannot do such a thing here where…let’s say…a neighbour overhears a stranger talking to a Mr. Potter in the middle of the night. Do you understand?”

Severus tried to make his voice gentle but it still dripped with an icy tone towards the end. Young children seemed to be enthralled by promises, he remembered. That is, Lily had always made Severus promise and wait on the most mundane things. The promise of an explanation was enough for a spoiled, scared six-year-old, yes?

The boy’s head bobbed and the trembling frame shoved the pair of glasses on his face and whispered, “Yes, sir. Er…is the yard alright? N-No one’s awake.”

The yard? Severus had expected the boy to invite him to his bedroom in a tiptoe manner.

_On second thought, the yard would be much better._

Petunia would probably go into a cardiac arrest from seeing the Snape boy of all people, come out of precious Harry Potter’s bedroom. Neither did Severus want to do such a thing.

Severus sighed and quickly looked around. Indeed, the bland, monotonous neighbourhood seemed to under a heavy spell of schedule. No Muggles were wandering Privet Drive in the least.

It seemed, to Severus, that Potter seemed to be the only thing breaking the monotony.

_Bloody entitled Potters._

He sneered. “Lead the way, Mr. Potter” drawled Severus, with the disdain of the situation crawling back into his voice.

The frame flinched again, and with a mumbled “over here, sir,” the boy silently padded off the front porch and maneuvered himself through the thicket of the trimmed bushes that Petunia must’ve taken precious care of.

With a shake of his head, the elder man picked up the thrown flashlight, and followed the little boy through the bushes as silently, tracking the little boy’s feet with his hearing.

Severus, upon turning on the curve to the Dursley’s yard hit a realization.

 _The boy_ _hasn’t_ _questioned the magic I performed._ _Does he already know?_ _Was_ _Albus actually misinformed? Yet, he did ‘quietly disregard’ the magic I performed…something’s off about Potter._

Quickly, Severus stalked over to the said boy, who cowered on his approach, mumbling about an…orphanage?

Only after throwing up a non-verbal _Muffliato_ did Severus bend over and placed his palms on his knees, wand quickly hidden up his sleeve.

“Speak up, boy.”

The boy flinched severely, causing Severus to frown. Did he sound too harsh for a six-year-old? Then again, Potter easily stalked through the well-trimmed bushes that must’ve taken ages to trim the muggle way. Much less, the boy was up and awake and prancing around with a feline to boot. Protections be damned, the boy needed to be disciplined as well.

With such thoughts in mind, Severus did not retract the glare he gave the boy. Potter couldn’t see him, of course, but the realisation of what the _Saviour of the Wizarding World_ was seen very clearly by Severus.

The boy attempted to clear his throat which only sounded like a whimpered grunt.

“Y-You’re not going to take me to the orphanage, will you, sir? I-I haven’t been too bad, I promise!” The last sentence caught on a choked sob, and Severus sighed, berating himself mentally for not noticing that children have their fair share of drama—especially a _Potter_.

Severus straightened himself and put his hands behind his back—a stance that most students knew as the stance of no-nonsense. The boy clearly saw and understood him, as he quickly ducked his head and squeaked.

_A Potter cowering to a Snape. Who would’ve thought._

Though, Severus was slightly surprised. He didn’t think that the little boy would actually read in between the lines. He did not know what to do in this situation, truly. Take him away to Hogwarts for a while? Or act as a guard for Petunia’s bland home?

There was no way Severus would stand guard for Potter, but maybe the blasted wolf could. _Now, for some light and an answer to Potter’s question._

But how would the Potter boy react to his magic?

_To hell with it, if he screams, he screams. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t._

Thinking quickly, he took off his outer cloak and transfigured it into a solid barrier—far taller than Severus, over him and the boy. The incantation was long with the wand gestures far too awkward and generally pushy for Severus’s taste, and he remembered learning this from Albus a few years ago when he started complaining about private space in the library away from the children.

“You mustn’t abuse such an extraordinary spell, Severus,” he had said, amusement dancing through the blasted twinkling eyes.

With a quicker non-verbal _Lumos_ , light was thrown into the newly transfigured place, and Severus could finally have a good look at the now gaping boy.

The boy was an _exact_ copy of his father in every way. From the black, tousled mess of hair to the glasses, Severus could almost _hear_ James taunting him from his grave.

“H-How did you do that, sir? A-And a c-cave?” said a trembling, small voice.

Suddenly, Lily’s bright green eyes were locked on his and Severus’s breath hitched.

_Albus was right. The boy inherited not only the colour, but the same doe-like eyes Lily had._

Yet these eyes weren’t filled with astonishment as Lily’s would’ve been whenever Severus had performed a new spell for her.

These eyes were filled with fear and apprehension.

Severus quickly looked down at the boy’s appearance and furrowed his brow in thought.

The boy’s clothes were _enormous_ by far. The belt, he could see, wrapped around the boy’s waist at least three times. The jeans the boy wore were cuffed and folded as much they could, yet they still dragged at the ends. Potter was clearly wearing no footwear as the child’s small toes poked from underneath the huge trouser ends. The boy’s shirt…it was thoroughly stained and dirty, while the sleeves had been folded multiple times. The boy’s frame looked as if he was still a toddler and the clothes rather engulfed the boy.

Something was off about the boy, but Severus ignored it.

After all, he reckoned a boy who clearly disobeyed the orders of protection wasn’t worth the concern. He was worth the disciplining, though five years too early.

_Fancied himself a gardener, eh?_

“S-Sir?” The boy’s small frame started to shake.

Well, Severus could put the fear of Snape in a later time.

 _A child of six, Severus_.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Severus towered over the small boy, who flinched violently at his movement.

Rolling his eyes at the boy’s theatrics, Severus quickly thought about going about this conversation. Simple and fast, perhaps.

_That would keep Potter’s attention, I reckon._

“Tell me, Mr. Potter. What do _you_ think happened?”

Another flinch. Severus sighed. “Come now, Potter, while you’re young.”

Wringing his hands, the boy ducked his head, though Severus saw the blasted green eyes that watched him through the fringe of dark hair in trepidation.

“Erm…s-something… _freaky_ , I-I think?”

Severus sneered as he remembered a certain blonde-haired horse-faced girl calling the Snape boy a ‘freak,’ and a tree branch on the head of the said girl, who has started to wail bloody murder.

_Petunia is still at it, eh?_

“Ah. Well, how many freaky incidents have you indulged in, Potter?”

Severus had no idea how the simple and quick conversation turned into a goaded stretch of words with the young Saviour, but Severus seemed to gain a sense of calm from it and smirked as he saw Potter flinch rather more violently than the previous one.

“I-I don’t know, s-sir” stammered Potter. The boy’s hands were shaking as the boy quickly put them behind his back.

Potter was clearly a mess.

“Potter, what I did was magic—“

No sooner did he utter the word, Potter whipped his small head at Severus and gasped.

“No!” whispered Potter.

“ _Do_ not interrupt, Mr. Potter.” The boy’s mouth clamped shut, and the boy bit on his lower lip, all the while staring at Severus’s towering figure through his fringe.

“ _Now_ , I assure you, there is such thing as magic which would explain this hm, cave as you so called it. I have placed an illusion over my cloak—that is now, the cave—so that if your relatives or any neighbours were to glance at this yard, they would only see and empty yard with no one in it.”

“Surely, if you were keeping up, you would understand that the many unexplainable events that have occurred over the years of your life were bouts of accidental magic, Potter. Do you understand?” Severus was a little alarmed on seeing Lily’s eyes continue to widen with fear every word, even if it were behind Potter’s hideously taped spectacles.

“Y-you’re lying!” The boy nearly shouted.

“I am certainly not lying, _sir_.”

“B-But—that’s not real! You’re mad!” Now the boy _did_ yell.

“Show some respect, _Mr. Potter_ ” growled Severus.

The boy defiantly glared at Severus through his fringe and pouted, causing Severus’s irritation to quickly flare.

“What am I holding in my hand, boy?”

The eyes quickly looked at Severus’s right hand.

“A torch, _sir_.”

 _Dear Merlin. Potter’s boy calling a wand a torch_.

Severus, with a flick of his wand, conjured a ball of blue flames, which he then levitated in one hand, dropping the real torch to his side.

Potter’s mouth was in a comical ‘o.’

“ _This_ , Potter, is my _wand_. Honestly, what _have_ you been told about your parents?”

Potter’s eyes quickly stormed. The boy straightened himself and quickly grabbed the fallen torch with a lunge.

“How do you know my mum and dad?” said the boy angrily, rushing back with the torch held tightly to his chest.

Severus was momentarily stumped. Anger on hearing the mention of his parents? Then again, ‘Professor Snape’ was still quite a stranger to the boy.

“Many people know the names of Lily and James Potter.” Severus couldn’t help but sneer at the man’s name. “They were, and are still, names of great people.”

The boy’s next shouts made Severus’s blood run cold.

“You really _are_ lying! My Mummy and Daddy died in a car accident and were drunk and drugged and bad people! You’re mental! A liar! _Go away!”_

Something was off about this boy, and Severus could no longer ignore it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> A sloppy chapter written at 3am, but oh well.  
> Let me know what you thought!  
> Stay safe!


	3. Trust

_“Many people know the names of Lily and James Potter.” Severus couldn’t help but sneer at the man’s name. “They were, and are still, names of great people.”_

_The boy’s next shouts made Severus’s blood run cold._

_“You really are lying! My Mummy and Daddy died in a car accident and were drunk and drugged and bad people! You’re mental! A liar! Go away!”_

_Something was off, and Severus could no longer ignore it._

* * *

“Who said such things to you?” asked the Professor in such a deadly, low voice that it caused Harry to momentarily forget the man’s promises.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered. “I-I-please, don’t hurt me!” He gripped his torch closer to his chest.

Suddenly, two long, pale fingers were under Harry’s chin, forcing him to look into a long, sallow face that was covered by a greasy curtain of dark hair. The dark eyes seemed to be swimming with an indescribable emotion to Harry.

The curiosity of such a new emotion kept the normally never-look-in-the-eye-boy, keep the eye contact of the scary, tall man.

“Mr. Potter,” said the silky voice. “I also do not indulge in liars. Kindly explain the details of your parents’ death and from where you got such information from.”

Harry was in a very scary dilemma. Such a scary tall _mad_ man, holding Harry’s chin in his two fingers and alone in a _freaky_ cave.

Harry would be in so much trouble if his Aunt and Uncle knew about this.

Would it be like Jeddy all over again?

The memory of that incident rushed in and Harry’s body started to tremble harder. Silent sobs racked the little boy’s body and far too quickly in Harry’s opinion, tears streamed down his cheeks.

He could only plead.

“S-Sir, pl-please, don’t hurt me, please I-I’ll be goo-good. _Please_ , let me out” sobbed Harry.

The man’s face paled quickly in the light. The man’s eyes seemed to dart around Harry’s face, though Harry’s eyes were quickly getting clouded.

Soon, Harry started hiccupping. Yet the man did not release the hold on Harry’s chin.

“I knew your parents, Mr. Potter.” The man cleared his throat. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

Harry’s breath caught and through his blurry vision, he saw the man wave the stick causing a cream handkerchief to appear in his hand.

“For you, Potter.”

Harry stared at the handkerchief in the man’s outstretched arm in shock. No one had given Harry a handkerchief while he cried. Dudley would always have his angry tears wiped away on the sofa while his Aunt would kiss his wet cheeks and rock him.

But Freaky Harry? He didn’t deserve his Uncle and Aunt’s love! He was a burden and needed to earn his keep by keeping his family happy! Yet Professor Snape was treating him like he deserved to wipe away his snivelling mess!

_Mummy had my eyes. He knew Mummy._

For some strange reason, that revelation warmed over Harry and gave him the courage to stretch a shaky hand and slowly take the handkerchief from the still man.

Quickly, he wiped his tears with the soft material, though the act of kindness of the scary man suddenly made Harry’s eyes well with more tears.

He struggled and told himself to quit acting like a baby. That seemed to do the trick as he shyly built his courage to return the handkerchief to the Professor who immediately gestured Harry to stop.

“You may keep it, Potter.”

Again, Harry was shocked at the scary man’s kindness.

But this was too familiar.

“Pl-Please sir, I’m very protected and-and-I don’t know you and you knew mummy b-but please, I’ll be goo-good, please— “

“Relax, Potter. I promised I shall not harm you in any way. I swear on my magic that I will not harm you. Now, breathe, Mr. Potter, no harm will come to you with me around. That’s right, deep breaths”

The sudden awe over the gentle timbre of the icy man calmed Harry stumbling breaths. He wrapped his arms around himself, encasing himself in the warmth of being held—leaving him in a state abated hiccups.

The man released hold of his chin.

“Are we fine, Mr. Potter?”

We? Harry almost giggled. It was _him_ acting like a baby towards the tall Professor.

He ducked his head instead, wringing the handkerchief in his hands. “I’m fine now, sir” he stuttered.

Before he could go back to peeking at the man behind his fringe, the Professor himself had kneeled before Harry and took his chin between his two fingers again.

“Now, Mr. Potter. I’ve promised I will not harm you in any fashion. You are yet to give me an answer. Who told you such things about your parents?” said the Professor sternly.

“That they died in a car crash?” Harry wished his voice wouldn’t shake so much.

“Yes. As well as the statement that they were drunk and drugged. I’ll ask you again, Mr. Potter, who told you such things?”

Harry didn’t understand why the Professor’s face looked so troubled. He cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“My Aunt and Uncle, sir. But it’s all true, you don’t need to feel bad or anything. Were they always drunk, sir?” Harry hoped a question would soothe the man.

Yet the man looked far too troubled over Harry’s good-for nothing parents.

The Professor took a deep breath and closed his eyes, breathing through his large nose. The light flickered from his tor-wand or whatever it was. When he opened his eyes, he searched Harry’s face again.

“That was a lie, Mr. Potter.”

As much as this man was kind and scary and possibly very smart because he was a professor, Professor Snape was mad and Harry knew it would be stupid to believe him.

But maybe if he agreed, Professor Snape would tell him how James and Lily Potter looked like and then leave.

“Okay.” His voice was strong.

A moment.

“You do not believe me, do you Mr. Potter?” The Professor sounded a little angry there.

“Er…I do! Y-yes!”

“And magic, Mr. Potter?”

Harry paused for a moment. Before he could lie and say that he wholeheartedly believed the man, the tall man stood and looked down at Harry, still troubled.

“Mr. Potter, would you believe me if I trusted you with a secret of mine?”

Harry scrunched his forehead. “A secret, sir?”

The Professor rolled his eyes. “That is what I said.”

Harry thought quickly. “Do you have a secret identity?”

The Professor looked like he had just taken a whiff out of the rubbish bin. Oh, nothing seemed to go right with Harry.

“No, Potter. I don’t have a _secret identity_. What sort of nonsense is that?”

Harry’s face flamed in embarrassment.

_Why can’t he just go away? Or let me go?_

“Eyes up, Mr. Potter, and do not speak. Now, look at what comes out of my wand. It’s a very close secret of mine, and I wouldn’t like it if you told anyone. Understood?” The man was back to being stern and scary.

He didn’t know what would happen if he did say anything to anyone, but the freaky light that the man had shot at Mr. Tibbles had looked like it could hurt harder than a belting.

Harry quickly nodded and ducked his head.

He heard the man sigh. “ _Eyes up_ , Potter.”

Once Harry dragged his eyes up at the man, the Professor in a sharp motion, turned out the light.

Before Harry could even panic, he heard the Professor’s stern voice.

“Look, Potter” said the Professor.

“ _Expecto Patronum”_ said the man softly, and from the tip of the dark stick came out a dazzling blue light, engulfing the cave in a brighter azure light.

As Harry squinted through the brightness, the azure light slowly took the shape into a four-legged creature, that proceeded to prance around the enclosed area in dazzling grace.

Harry gasped as the creature finally padded over to him and nuzzled the top of his head. He felt nothing except a tingle up his spine. He reached a hand out to the lithe light creature, who butted its head against Harry’s small palm, eliciting a breathless ‘wow’ out of the small boy.

“Indeed” drawled a voice that Harry had completely forgotten in his distraction.

“I-It’s a deer, sir? How d-did that come out of your torch?”

The Professor raised an eyebrow as the creature padded over to the tall, dark man.

“Do not be so stupid, Mr. Potter. No torch bursts bright animals out of its tip. It is a _wand_ and you would do well remembering so.” The Professor looked at the deer that nudged the man’s forearm.

“This, Potter, is a _doe._ A female deer. You can tell by the lack of antlers…” The man looked back at Harry.

“You must promise me you will never tell anyone that I can do this spell, much less, have a doe pop out of such a spell. That is the payment for the handkerchief I gave you. Clear?”

Harry quickly nodded as he crinkled the handkerchief in his hands. At least he could pay for such kindness from the Professor.

The man gave a curt nod and then proceeded to bend and whisper in the doe’s ear.

All too quickly, the man straightened and the doe quickly bowed and ran straight through the cave’s barrier.

The cave was quickly lit back in the light by the Professor’s wand.

Harry was surprised at how truthful the man was. As he had promised, he did not hurt Harry and he even trusted Harry with a secret after giving Harry a handkerchief. His Uncle had many a times told Harry that if he completed the chores, he could go to the park for a few hours. One day, he managed to do just that. Yet, his Uncle had turned purple and told him that he shouldn’t have said anything and that Harry must have banged up his chores in the excitement. Harry had ended up doing half of his chores all over again, angry and hurt.

He had even known his parents.

Was the Professor _really_ mad? Was this just a dream with magic where Dudley’s superhero comic books lived?

The Professor, surprisingly, sat down on the trimmed grass and with his other hand, gestured Harry to do so.

Harry cautiously sat, and as the Professor smoothed his robes, Harry folded the handkerchief expertly and put it in his pocket. He smiled thinking that this was _truly_ his and his only, from the kind scary Professor Snape that knew his dead parents.

He looked at the said man through his fringe of hair and almost squeaked. The man must’ve been staring at him for a while, as he looked as if he was waiting for Harry to do something.

“Raise your head, and look at me, Mr. Potter” rumbled the man.

As Harry raised his head at the man, he reeled from the confusion of the Professor’s request. His family had taught him that it was rude to stare and make eye contact when given work. Yet, he wasn’t given work, but a handkerchief.

_W_ _hy is the Professor even here with me? Shouldn’t he be working or studying instead of being around me? Who even sent him?_

“Your parents had the same magic you and I hold, Mr. Potter” said the man, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

Harry gulped as he thought how to convince his parents weren’t all that awesome as the Professor was with his doe. Also, he had _magic_? He wasn’t three!

“In fact,” drawled the Professor, leaning back on his arms, “they were murdered. Your mother, in fact, was so brave of a witch, that she stood in front of the evil wizard that had come to kill you. She and her husband—your father, had died for you. Surely, you’ve heard this tale?”

The Professor’s voice became gravelly, and Harry could only shake his head. His parents didn’t deserve to be praised with such a _mad_ tale!

“You must be mistaken, sir. My Aunt was her sister, see— “

“Has your Aunt ever called you a freak?”

Harry was struck into shock. _How_ did the man know?

Without waiting for Harry’s response, he continued.

“Ah, so you have. Now tell me, what were the _freaky_ things you had done to make your Aunt say such things?”

Harry swallowed thickly and shook his head. He looked down at his fingers at wrung them. He didn’t want to tell this man of Mrs. Smith.

“Hm…there is nothing to be _afraid_ of, Potter. Many children can do what you do.”

Harry head whipped towards the man. “What?”

The man smirked. “Yes. I was like you. I had once levitated and dropped a tree branch on a rather loud girl when I was around nine years of age.”

Harry couldn’t hold back his giggle this time as he tried to imagine the tall, dark man at nine years of age and dropping a heavy tree branch on a silly girl.

“Was she okay?” Harry asked with a smile.

The Professor looked rather taken aback. “She…She was perfectly alright after she cried like a demon.”

Harry giggled again.

The Professor cleared his throat. “Your parents could do things like I did as they were magical. Witches for women, and wizards for men.”

“But they— “

“I will not lie to you. They were _not_ drunk or drugged and as many of their…hm…associates—that is, friends—have informed me, they were good parents and had died for you.”

Harry was starting to get overwhelmed. He could trust Professor Snape and he did, but magic? He was just Freaky Harry! His parents were murdered by an evil wizard? This was far too crazy!

“You may not believe me just yet, Mr. Potter, but I swear I have not lied. Now, tell me of _your_ magic, or as you may term it, _freaky_ incidents.”

Harry took a deep breath. Professor Snape had told Harry that he had trusted him, gave him a secret and told Harry about his freaky incident.

But had his Aunt and Uncle really lied to him? Was he actually, just as normal as Dudley? No, that was too far. He couldn’t be _anything_ like Dudley, no. Yet Uncle Vernon never kept his promises and Aunt Petunia had always acted all flowery and sweet to their neighbours and came home complaining about their attitudes.

Harry rather felt overwhelmingly hurt.

He decided that maybe Professor Snape wasn’t all too much of a stranger if he said he was like him.

“Er…I think I was playing with Ruby the cat, and then she just floated! I swear it wasn’t me—I-I hadn’t even touched her and-and Mrs. Figg wasn’t even around so it wasn’t like she knew and Ruby wasn’t hurt or anything and— “

“Mrs. Figg, Potter?”

“Sh-She’s my babysitter.”

“Ah. Babysitter. Alright. Does your family know that you levitated the cat?” The man cocked an eyebrow when Harry shook his head.

There was enough distance between the two for a lion to sleep in, yet Harry was feeling hot and sweaty and too close to the Professor. Sometimes, he felt like that in the cupboard.

“Relax, Mr. Potter. Didn’t I just tell you about the tree branch? ‘Ruby the cat’ wasn’t hurt. What are you afraid of?”

“Sh-She could’ve been!”

“Yes, she could’ve. Now, why didn’t you tell your family?”

Harry bit hit bottom lip. Why does the Professor need to know what his family would do? He just met him!

Suddenly, a whoosh of azure light seared into the cave, filling the cave with twice the brightness as the Professor’s wand was ignited.

A blue, dazzling bird swooped and dived until it hovered in front of the professor who narrowed his eyes at the bright creature.

“The body has been taken care of,” rumbled an old, rich voice from the bird. “Breakout from Azkaban. LeStranges, Black, Dolohov, Mulciber and many more.”

_Body? What?_

The professor’s sallow face had turned chalk white.

“Get Harry Potter to Hogwarts. Inform the Dursley’s of the child’s departure and that wards will be reconstructed just for them. Blood wards are not enough for the child. I will send Fawkes to apparate you two out in thirty minutes.” the bird said quickly. The plumage of the huge bird curled upon itself and popped out of existence, leaving the Professor and Harry in deathly silence and a flickering light.

_A fox?_

The Professor broke the silence in only a few seconds.

“I must talk to your family. You are not safe here.” He seemed very overwhelmed as well.

Harry could only bob his head.

_Safe? What was going on?_

The Professor jerkily snapped his wand turning off the light and cancelling the cave entirely.

Harry was suddenly engulfed in darkness and very scared.

A hand came on his back and Harry flinched violently.

The Professor’s light came back on and he could see that the man’s forehead was damp with sweat.

“Mr. Potter, promise me this over the safety of you and your family—that you will do _exactly_ as I say” the man hurriedly said.

Harry quickly nodded and with the Professor’s consequent jerk of his head, Harry trotted over to the patio door and pulled with his shaking hands.

Once it was open, Harry followed the Professor inside and made his way into the living room.

They were nearing the stairs when Harry couldn’t hold it in. He tugged on the Professor’s long sleeve and waited for the panicked yet annoyed stare at him.

Harry swallowed a few times to gain his courage as the Professor sighed irritably at him.

“Spit it out, boy.”

Harry flinched and took a deep breath.

“I-I’m—will _we_ get _killed_?” he whispered

The Professor had one foot on the stairs, but on hearing Harry he put the foot back down on the floor.

“Nothing will harm you when I’m around you. Just do _exactly_ as I say and we will all be safe, Potter. Now, show me where your Aunt and Uncle are asleep. We’ll get this over with”

“Al-alright, sir” said Harry a little louder.

With another nod, the Professor went up the staircase, having Harry follow him. On the top of the staircase, the Professor turned to Harry.

“I’ll follow you. Quick, Potter.”

Harry went in front and quickly made his way all the way down the hall.

He pointed to the door on the left to which the Professor nodded to.

“Stay with me, Potter” said the man and then knocked on the door.

With a louder tone, the Professor shouted. “Mister and Missus Dursley, you must wake up. The house is no longer safe.”

Harry stood behind the Professor, trembling.

Oh, what was he _thinking_? He was going to be in _so_ much trouble! A whole two weeks in the cupboard for bringing in freaks like him! Not that he thought Professor Snape a _real_ freak, but he wasn’t normal and his Aunt and Uncle were sleeping and if they wake up to—

The rustling inside his Uncle’s room stopped and the door was thrown open wide, revealing both his Uncle Vernon and his Aunt Petunia in their dressing gowns, except Aunt Petunia had her curlers in.

But both his Uncle and Aunt had just woken up, yet they both had a red, puckered face. His Uncle’s moustache twitched ominously, while Aunt Petunia sniffed through her rubbing of her eyes.

Harry could almost _feel_ the belt.

“What in the ruddy hell?” bellowed his Uncle at Harry, causing Harry to visibly curl upon himself.

“Mr. Dursley,” a silky voice from Harry’s left announced, causing both the adults to whip their heads towards it.

“Mrs. Dursley,” stated the Professor sneering. “Your residence is no longer safe for the boy. I am removing Potter from your care and taking him to Hogwarts. His life and all of yours are in danger.”

A moment’s beat.

Shockingly, Aunt Petunia spoke first.

“You-the _Snape_ boy?”

The Professor’s sneer looked far too scary under the light he carried with his wand.

“Hello, _Tuney_. Did you hear what I just said? Or must I repeat?”

His Uncle, the whole exchange, was giving Harry a nasty look, and Harry knew exactly what it meant. It was the ‘you-and-I-need-to- _talk_ ’ look and Harry did not _ever_ like that look, _ever._

“How- _why_ are you _here?_ ” screeched his Aunt. 

Before the Professor could open his mouth, probably to tell her off, his Uncle gave an ugly smile to Harry, and turned to the man.

Harry was petrified.

“You _freaks_ seem to have _no_ problem breaking into our house!” hissed his Uncle. “What the bloody _hell_ do you want?”

The Professor didn’t flinch at the tone, though his eyes flashed.

“Watch your mouth, Dursley” growled the man. “I will _repeat_ myself. I must remove your nephew,” the Professor pointed at Harry, “from this home. Our _freak_ world as well as your _nephew_ is in danger—indirectly, your family. That is why Dumbledore will enforce this house is protected from all things magical once Harry Potter is removed. Did you get all that?” drawled the man.

Both his Aunt and Uncle were no longer looking at the Professor, but rather Harry. They looked at Harry with such disgust, that even as Harry had his head ducked, he shivered on their emitted emotions.

“ _Trouble_ , boy. You _always_ were. You and that ruddy _hocus-pocus._ ” said Uncle Vernon in a low voice.

Harry’s head snapped up at that. Did he hear that correctly?

His Uncle smirked while his Aunt rolled her eyes and started to make her way downstairs.

_Magic’s real?!_

“ _Trouble_ , yes, but none created by him, I assure you, Mr. Dursley” said an annoyed voice.

Uncle Vernon’s smirk landed on the tall man’s gaze, and Harry knew exactly what was going to come out from his Uncle’s mouth.

Harry knew he should be content with the Professor’s secret and trust and his handkerchief, but he couldn’t bear to see disgust on the Professor’s face after Uncle Vernon’s rundown on Harry.

So Harry, shutting his eyes tightly, ducked his head to his chest in shame and waited for the inevitable.

“So, you must have told the boy?”

_Huh?_

“Yes, Mr. Dursley. Though I find _drunk_ and _drugged_ quite an insult to their memories.”

Harry peeked a look through his fringe. The Professor seemed to tower over his large Uncle, though his Uncle looked the least fazed.

“It was a perfect explanation to keep the boy’s troubles out of his and our blame.”

“On the contrary, _kind sir_ , I believe you’ve caused more trouble for both the _boy_ and the _me_.”

“Ah, you see we don’t take such _rubbish_ kindly in this house.”

“That so-called _rubbish_ is his _birth right_ , elephant.”

Harry audibly gasped at his Uncle’s slight, causing the purple face of both the men to turn towards Harry.

“Come, Potter” hissed the Professor as he looked his Uncle up and down. “There is no time to waste.”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Harry before stumbling over to the Professor’s side, all the while keeping his head down.

His Uncle stayed at the door of his bedroom, and as he reached the landing, he heard the sound of a loud slam.

Harry couldn’t help but feel disappointed in himself for bringing his family _more_ trouble like he _always_ does.

_Don’t cry, Harry, you’re not a big baby._

Harry and the Professor reached the living room where his Aunt Petunia was seated on the sofa, the lights on.

The Professor, without asking any permission (but neither did Aunt Petunia looked like she wanted to give any), sat himself on the other couch, opposite to his Aunt. He crossed his legs and folded his hands one over another.

The Professor rather looked very strict to Harry.

Harry hovered at the entrance of the room, unsure of where he should be.

Grownups have their own grownup conversations, he had been taught, and he and Dudley weren’t to be rude and eavesdrop. Yet, no one said anything to Harry, so he could be here, right? But where would he sit? He was always a dirty boy and shouldn’t be sitting on the sofas after his chores so he just might have to sit on the floor like always did, but the Professor was there and Aunt Petunia always tried to make an ‘impression’ and if he sat—

“Get in here, boy, and quit dawdling,” drawled a silky voice, and Harry yelped and quickly sat cross legged in front of the fireplace.

His Aunt snorted and crossed her arms, while the Professor narrowed his eyes at Harry, causing Harry to try and bury his chin into his chest as his face flamed out of shame.

“Dumbledore approves of this?” his Aunt started.

“Yes.”

“But he had told us that the boy’s protection was through our blood.”

_Huh?_

“Of course, _Petunia_ , that’s why he lived here. Grasp it, will you? The boy is not safe here due to the Wizarding World’s newest perils, and the boy is a target. If not him, then his family to bait him. Honestly, woman, did you get _nothing_ from what I told upstairs?”

Harry’s brain was in an overridden state.

“Oh, shut it, _Snape_ ” snapped his Aunt. “You _freaks_ keep dragging in problems into completely normal lives. First Lily with her _wonderful witchcraft_ , and now her son with his never-ending knack of nasty _trouble_.”

Harry raised his head on the mention of his mother’s name. His Aunt looked at him and rolled her eyes.

“I’ve told you several times that your _condition_ was hereditary, have I not? Well? Perhaps _Snape_ has _informed_ you about your _freakishness_ , but it doesn’t change anything, Harry. I _will not_ tolerate such _rubbish_ in this house!” His Aunt was starting to look the most unhinged he had ever seen and was slowly starting to frighten Harry.

“Y-Yes, Aunt Petunia” stammered Harry to which the professor snorted to.

“You think this is amusing, Snape?” screeched his Aunt. “The boy wreaks havoc with that _freakishness_ of his! Turning teacher wigs blue! Disappearing and unexplainably landing on the _roof_ of the school! Growing back his _hair_! Hurting _my_ son with his flying _cups_! You find this _amusing_ , don’t you? Landing with Lily’s and that no-good maudlin of a layabout’s _son_?”

His Aunt was on her feet now, dress robes wrapped tightly around her.

Harry gaped at such a display.

_Could what the Professor had said about his parents…be true?_

“He is only but a _child_ in _mortal peril_ , oh yes, so _wonderfully_ amusing. But yes, his _accidental_ magic, causes such strife to his family. Yes, _Petunia_ , I personally, find it _hilarious_ that you could inform the _Boy-Who-Lived_ that his parents were _drunk and drugged._ I may have not like Potter, but he had _died_ for his son. I cannot find the _no-good_ title in such an action, hm? Tell me, _Petunia_ , what would Lily say if she stood before you now?”

The Professor was on his feet as well, and towered over his Aunt and her head filled with her curlers, yet his Aunt did not back down.

“I couldn’t care less” exclaimed Aunt Petunia. “She was a _freak_ and yet she was my _sister_. She _chose_ to be so much of a freak over a _normal_ life that she and her bloody husband went and got themselves _blown_ up! _Yes,_ I told him his parents were _drunk and drugged_! How else was I to explain to the _normal folk_ of the boy’s atrocious _magic tricks_? Don’t you _dare_ condescend what I do for my family, Snape!”

“Oh yes, supressing a small boy’s magic seemed like a very good deed for the _family_ ” sneered the Professor. He poked his Aunt’s chest with a long, stained finger.

“Remember to sear my words into that pathetic little bundle of nerves you call a brain, _Tuney_. _Nothing_ about the way you raised the boy is _normal._ I may not have had the best parents, you hag, but even _I_ know that _unexplainable magic tricks_ are not something to _stamp_ out. Merlin forbid you’ve done nothing more than yell at the boy—trust me, Dursley, the whole of the Wizarding World, including Dumbledore would be more than _upset_ ” spat the Professor.

Harry was now shocked into having a mouth agape at the scene.

The Professor with a deep breath, sat back down on the sofa.

“I shall take the boy away until the bigger _troubles_ cease to exist. You must agree, otherwise all the _generous_ deeds you’ve done for your family will no longer matter, as you and your _lovely_ family will be in graves and resting peacefully. _Now,_ have we reached an agreement?”

His Aunt dramatically flourished her hands. “Take him away for as long as you’d like! Eleven was far too old, anyways, for the _Boy-Who-Lived!”_

Something about his Aunt suddenly made Harry swallow past a thick lump in his throat, which was slowly getting bigger.

It hurt.

The Professor’s eyes flashed scarily. “I shall do _just_ that. _Good night, Dursley.”_

“Make no noise and lock the door after you leave, _Snape._ ”

Harry quickly blinked away the stinging in his eyes, as the Professor called his name. He padded over to the sofa, throwing a backward glance back at his Aunt, who had already stomped her way back to the stairs, back to the bedroom.

It really hurt.

“Potter, are you scared?” said the Professor softly as he bent over Harry.

“N-No, I-I’m fine, sir, thank you.”

With a sigh, the Professor pulled out Harry’s folded handkerchief from his large pocket and dabbed Harry’s cheeks with it.

Harry hadn’t even noticed the tears until the cloth was on his cheeks. He was so shocked that only when the Professor had pulled back did he actually think about it.

It was rather very nice of the man to wipe his tears. He even felt better.

He gave a rather wet smile at the Professor, to which the Professor furrowed his brow to. The man folded the handkerchief and with the flick of his wrist, the cloth landed in Harry’s pocket.

Harry smiled at his pocket as he patted it.

_The Professor isn’t that scary, really._

“Now, Potter,” said the Professor gently, still bent. “You must pack your things. I’ll help you with my magic.”

Harry nodded and with a ‘yes, sir,’ he made a move to the hallway.

Only when the Professor started to tap his foot against the first stair did Harry understand something. He almost slapped himself over his head for being so stupid.

Crouched to find the handle of the cupboard, he straightened and went over to the Professor.

“Well?” annoyingly snapped the Professor.

"Er, that’s not where my stuff is, Professor.”

The Professor looked quite confused. “It’s not upstairs? I had thought you put your things in your bedroom.”

Harry giggled a little. “I do, sir. But that’s not where my bedroom is!”

In a way, the little boy was trading a secret for a secret. He never told anyone about his cupboard, lest anyone made fun of him. Yet, it was never something he talked about to, even to Mrs. Figg and the cats as he found it very shaming. Dudley had told his friends about it once, which had led Harry to cry in the loo, but it only lasted a day as they had found something else to make fun of Harry.

His relatives forbade him from speaking about his cupboard in public as well, which Harry couldn’t help but follow wholeheartedly. He would never make a good impression with _that_ sort of small talk, they had told their nephew.

Yet…the Professor was like a magical friend.

Harry knew the Professor wouldn’t make fun of Harry and where he slept. He knew he could trust the tall man.

His Aunt and Uncle had lied about his parents, he picked up and he knew that the Professor was as equally as disturbed as Harry was.

The least Harry could do was show his small secret. It wasn’t even as amazing as the Professor’s, really.

“Here, sir,” said Harry as he now pointed to the cupboard.

Instantly, the man went pale.

Harry was slightly confused, but he didn’t think much as he was far too excited to show the Professor his own version of a cool secret.

He opened the latch and opened his door. He crawled in and poked his grinning face at a shell-shocked Professor, who’s mouth was for a change of turn, was open.

“Look! It’s my bedroom! It’s the cupboard, but it’s really not that bad, yeah? Come in, sir! I’ll show you Timothy!”

The boy scooted as the Professor’s head poked in the cupboard door. One of the Professors large hands patted Harry’s cot.

“Potter…you-you sleep here?”

“Mmhm! And so does Timothy!” Harry reached over to the corner of the cupboard where he quickly cupped his hands over the jumpy, small spider over the intricate web and moved to show the Professor, who seemed to have taken an interest in Harry’s sign that he had made when he was four-and-a-half that hung a little over his head.

‘HARY’S ROOM,’ it said in green.

“Look, sir! Say ‘hello’ to Professor Snape, Timothy!” Harry opened his cupped hands and yelped when Timothy the spider jumped backwards, behind Harry.

“Erm, he doesn’t seem to like new people very much, I suppose” attempted Harry at an excuse for Timothy’s everyday behaviour.

The Professor took a shuddering breath.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

“Ah. Yes, Potter, it’s…alright. Where are your clothes and underthings and such? We must pack quickly.” The Professor sounded a little breathless.

“Okay. My clothes are here” Harry pointed to the neatly folded stack of all his hand-me-down clothes, belts, trousers and his underthings.

His flushed thinking that Professor Snape would have to help Harry to pack his underthings. He quickly stretched across the cot to reach his school backpack, to which the Professor must’ve accidently backed away from. He banged his head against the ceiling of the cupboard.

“Oh, I’m very sorry! I was just going to get my bag! Should I bring my school homework, sir? I was going to put my clothes in here, but homework’s in the way so I thought— “

“No need for your school homework. Give me the bag. I’ll pack your things with magic.”

“Ah, it’s okay, sir, you don’t have to— “

Without a second to waste, Professor grabbed the bag from Harry’s hand.

“Potter…if you would step out for a minute” said the Professor between clenched teeth.

“Are…are y-you angry with me, sir?”

“No…no, I’d rather not have you in midst of your flying underthings. Now, please.”

The Professor moved his head away from the cupboard, and Harry crawled out, thinking on what he had said that must’ve made the tall man angry.

But that train of thought was suddenly stopped as he peeked from behind the shoulder of the kneeling frame of the Professor. It seemed as if the hand gesture of the Professor suddenly made his bag into a vacuum for his clothes! They all suddenly were sucked in, yet neatly folded in his bag, making Harry grin.

He could really get used to this _magic_ , yeah?

When the Professor had gotten up and given Harry his bag, he had expected it to be heavy and well, Dudley’s old holey, stained backpack, of course. But he gasped when he felt the extremely light backpack stitched and reduced from its stains.

“Wow! That’s really _wicked_ , sir!” he said laughing at the Professor.

The Professor did not smile back, but took Harry’s hand right after he quickly threw it on to check if it still would stay light on his back.

“Have you got anything else you’d like to take?”

Harry bit his lip in thought.

“Oh!” he cried. “My soldier! And my blanket! Can I take them?”

“ _May_ I, Potter, and quickly. We have four minutes till we leave.” The Professor loosened his grip.

Harry quickly scrambled to his cupboard and grabbed the blue blanket as well as the armless soldier he nicked.

Displaying it to the Professor with outstretched hands, Harry explained quickly why he wanted them. “This was my blanket that I had even before I knew Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, sir! Er…I found Dudley not playing with him, so I took it. I know it’s wrong, but I’ve only done it once, I swear!”

The Professor took his hand again and led him to the front door all the while he explained. “It is alright to have a toy, child. It’s alright.”

Harry beamed at the endearment, and gripped the large hand tighter as the Professor waved his wand to turn of the living room and hallway lights.

As the Professor and he stepped out the door, the door quickly made a click, and the Professor didn’t look back as he took his long strides, which Harry jogged to keep along to. Harry noticed that he only reached around the Professor’s knees, which made Harry feel very, very small.

They reached the edge of the property, and as they were now surrounded by darkness, Harry could not see the man whipping his head from the right to the left several times.

“When will I come back, sir?” he asked. The Professor gripped his hand a little tighter and Harry heard him take in a deep breath.

“I do not know, child.”

“Oh.”

For a moment there was silence until a sudden tingle in the air suddenly whooshed into a spiral of fire, erupting a bright, yellow bird that hovered, flapping its wings in the air.

The familiarity made Harry grin.

“It’s—“

“Quiet. It’s a phoenix, Potter. Now, will you let me hold you, Potter? The feeling of this travel is rather dis—queasy for one so young” elaborated the Professor gently.

Harry had never been held before.

“O-Okay.”

Suddenly, he was raised in the air, backpack and all, in a firm yet gentle grip. He gripped the cloth in front of him in the sudden change in altitude and found him close to the curtain of greasy hair.

He rather liked being held like this, though it was for babies, of course.

“Hold on tight, child, and _do not let go_ ” said the Professor as he reached one palm over to the tail of the bright bird.

Before Harry could ask anymore questions, a sudden lurch overtook his stomach, making Harry instinctively bury his head into the crook of the Professor’s neck. A feeling of being squeezed and shot through a warm tube cranked in, making Harry whimper into the Professor’s neck.

But he trusted the Professor. He was going to be safe with the Professor and his magic.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Funny how I hardly used any breaks for such a long chapter, I suppose. Did anyone else feel the relatable ditch-the-moment-before-you-make-it-worse moment Harry had about secret identities? Only me? Okay. Anyways, thought I'd make this chapter from Harry's side of things. Poor little Harry has no idea what Severus has just witnessed, and I rather like the idea of Harry having a sort of childish innocence of simplifying every matter in his small head to make sense of every situation in his own six-year-old way.
> 
> The canon Severus Snape, I must admit, was the most toxic, hate filled character I've ever read, yet he was the most breathtaking personality from the books-especially since he was such a dick, yet did everything for the love that he'd never get. I don't sympathize with him, no, but I understand just what he had to do. I believe that only Harry Potter could understand the lost boy named Severus over the Professor he loathed, and that uniquely gave him the idea to honour and forgive him through his son's middle name. It makes sense to me-he calls Riddle and Snape and even him, the lost boys of Hogwarts. Only Harry would do such a thing. Lucky it's the boy's middle name, though, lol.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts on both the chapter and your thoughts on the characters from the books! I love looking at different point of views! Oh, and yes, Sirius Black is in this tale-the Death Eaters, according to Karkaroff, hadn't even known all who were part of the band, so I decided they would've assumed Sirius was part of it and let him loose.
> 
> That's all for now, and stay safe!


	4. Freed

He gripped his arms around the small boy as he landed with a thunk in the Headmaster’s office, noticing that that the small bundle was whimpering in his arms.

“ _Was she okay?”_

“Severus! I trust all went well with Petunia and her husband?” enquired Albus’s rich voice.

The Headmaster looked haggard—all the years pushed on the frail form of his. Yet, the man had chosen to wear the most flamboyant indigo robes dotted with the constellations of the night sky in sparkling silver thread with a matching hat as well.

The indigo brought out the dimmed twinkle in the cobalt eyes and the white of such a large beard, making Severus think maybe olive green could, on a very, _very_ formal occasion suit him.

" _Look! It’s my bedroom! It’s the cupboard, but it’s really not that bad, yeah? Come in, sir! I’ll show you Timothy!”_

Another whimper.

“Severus?”

Severus took a deep breath.

Albus, who was standing behind the desk, slowly came over, the phoenix on his shoulder—to stand in front of Severus.

He searched his face over the half-moon spectacles, and gave a perturbed look came over the wrinkled.

But Severus could not speak. His thoughts were far too muddled to coherently express his thoughts.

The boy’s hiccup broke Albus’s annoying concern for him, and move it to the boy wrapped in his arms.

“Harry, my boy?” He placed his wrinkled hand on the small back causing the hiccups to suddenly cease.

Actually, the whole frame had seized up.

_“S-Sir, pl-please, don’t hurt me, please I-I’ll be goo-good. Please, let me out”_

Severus suddenly felt an emotion build up a far too familiar build up in the bottom of his gut, almost twisting his insides, causing a dull, throbbing pain.

Guilt.

Albus’s bewildered expression at the sight of Severus and the child would’ve normally put Severus in a good mood, but he was so out of it now, that he didn’t even know what to explain to Albus.

_After all, Albus put Potter there. Blood wards and that damned Orb._

But now, he could only do one thing.

So, as quickly as he could, he Occluded his emotions, more painfully than he had ever done, behind a small wooden door, that his subconscious had conjured. Evidently, it had seemed to have a horrid sense of humour as the door was the exact copy of the cursed cupboard that the child lived and slept in for all these years.

He had even buried his anger at Albus, Petunia and even the Dark Lord behind that blasted door, for now.

 _So much effort for a small boy,_ he thought half-heartedly in amusement.

So when he opened his eyes a moment later, he found the face of the confused Grand Sorcerer and shook his head to signal the man to remove his hand off the boy’s back.

Albus, quirking his eyebrows, removed his hand as Severus expected and conjoined his wrinkled hands in front of him, as if expecting a sweet expectantly.

Even the phoenix hadn’t moved from the Headmaster’s shoulder.

“Potter, this is Albus Dumbledore—a close friend of mine and your parents” His voice was impressively impassive.

A little _too_ impassive, as Severus saw Albus’s eyes flashed an emotion of reprimand, which would normally make him to hang his head in shame.

But he was too shut off to actually do anything of that sort.

The small boy looked up sniffling at Severus, making Severus’s heart clench. Not only was Lily’s eyes glistening behind the wonky _taped_ glasses, but the child had knotted his small hands so tightly in Severus’s fabric, that they were shaking ever so slightly. His cheeks were flushed red, streaming tears and his bottom lip between the small teeth, struggling to reign in his simple emotions.

_“You-you pr-promise you won’t hi-hit me?”_

“Harry, my dear child, I’ve heard you have Lily’s eyes. Is that really so?” gently cajoled Albus, the likes Severus had never heard.

The child sniffled and slowly turned his head towards Albus, still gripping Severus’s cloak.

Potter’s eyes widened on the sight of Fawkes and he made such a pitiful grunt, that even Albus’s eyes reached the understanding.

“Oh, dear boy, Fawkes here did not mean to startle you so much! He’s quite a silly goose, see,” the bird let out a squawk of indignation, “he just wished to get both Severus and you out of the house, though I assure you, he apologises for making the journey far queasier than it should be. He did not mean to harm you, Harry” Albus softly explained, all the while holding out the phoenix, who curiously cocked his head at Potter who finally stopped sniffling.

Severus, feeling the sudden lead weight of Potter, finally set the boy down on his feet, still holding the rucksack, though. Albus smiled fondly as Potter continued to cling to his robe with one hand, while the other shyly waved at the phoenix.

_“Go away!”_

_Such innocence._

The phoenix started squawking again as Albus tweaked a feather on its crest, causing the small boy to giggle suddenly.

Albus chortled with the boy as he led the phoenix to its perch to the right. “Oh quiet, Fawkes, we have guests! I daresay you’ve made _quite_ the ruckus already, hm?”

“He’s silly,” said a giggling voice, warming Severus’s heart and making Albus’s smile widen.

The phoenix trilled, almost as if chuckling, and suddenly burst into is apparating flames, leaving the boy to gasp at such a display.

“I reckon he believes that too. Now, come here child, and let me get a good look at you” said Albus as he seated himself in the chair.

The boy looked up at Severus, wary, to which Severus quickly removed the boy’s hand, took it and led him behind the desk, into Albus’s arms.

Albus looked at him in a disgruntled manner and he even felt his prick of Legilimency make its way into Severus’s consciousness. Severus pushed it, and Albus stopped pressing. Shooting a small glare at Albus, he made his way around the desk to sit in the chair opposite to it.

He could see the boy stiffen on instinct as Albus gently picked him up and plopped him on his lap. The boy, completely ignoring the adults, had finally noticed the many whirring trinkets in the room and gaped his mouth in astonishment.

Severus could see that two teeth were missing on the bottom row.

_I wonder what he had felt when his first tooth had fallen. Would Petunia have yelled at him?_

“My, my, it seems someone has forgotten their shoes” said Albus, with his moustache twitching in amusement.

_Huh? No shoes?_

Indeed, the boy’s small toes were poking out of the ends of those hideously large jeans, making Severus mentally slap himself.

 _The Boy-With-No-Sole_ , he thought amusedly. His pun plummeted as he thought that about Petunia or Vernon being dementors for the boy.

“Oh! Er, I did, sir, I’m r-really sorry!”

“Oh, no matter, child, we can provide you a new pair…hm, I must say, dear boy, you look everything like your father. And it’s very true, your eyes are exceptionally your mother’s. Yes, yes, Lily’s eyes.”

“I look like Daddy?” asked a breathless, small voice.

Severus, as much he despised James Potter, could clearly see that his son, Harry Potter, was nothing like him excepting his physical appearance. The boy, yes, seemed to be above rules as Merlin knew what he was doing with the cat so late in the night in the bushes, but he carried himself without his father’s arrogance. More, his own childish innocence.

Severus had been prepared to know that he would be teaching James Potter’s dunderhead of a son when he would arrive at Hogwarts, whole-heartedly believing that he would be the _exact_ prat his father was.

Severus, as if slapped with a hot _Incendio_ across his face, could see the cruelty in such a penance. Belittling and cursing the existence of one’s son when the boy would’ve been finding a sense of solace inside Hogwarts, away from the summers with those maggots…

‘Was she hurt,’ the boy has asked after he had told him that he had once dropped a branch on Petunia.

Quite like a certain auburn haired girl.

_Oh, Lily._

“Indeed, my boy. Why, you seem to have the Potter hair as well! In fact, James had often said that all Potters have ‘lion manes’ for hair” quipped Albus as he carded his hand through boy’s untamed nest of tousled hair.

“He said that?” Lily’s eyes looked at Albus’s twinkling ones in awe.

“Yes, dear boy. I believe he had gotten in trouble, see. Raiding the kitchen in the wee hours, looking positively frazzled after being sent up to see me, hair as messier than ever. He would be so proud of you, little one, with your wonderful lion’s mane, so like his.”

The boy looked shocked, and Severus’s eyes shut, knowing he could not bear to see Albus’s confusion grow.

“Did he really die for me?” said a trembling voice causing Severus to snap his eyes open and Albus’s to narrow, quickly dampening.

“Both Lily and James loved you so _very_ much, my boy. They gave their lives for you so you could live one better and happier.” said Albus softly, rubbing the boy’s back.

The boy, to Severus’s astonishment and mild aggravation, had not flinched on such contact.

But, then again, why should he be feel anything when it came to coddling Potter’s son?

And Severus’s regretted all the irritation he felt when he saw the big drops cascade down the red cheeks again.

“Th-They really got ki-killed? By a bad wiz-wizard? And they were rea-really magic? And nice people?” said the little boy. Small chest heaving for breaths, the boy wrapped his arms around himself and tried, desperately by biting his lip, to end his sorrow.

Albus hugged the boy into his chest, inviting and causing the boy to let out the most gut wrenching sobs, that a few of the former Headmasters and Headmistress’s portraits started tearing up and dabbing their eyes with their laced handkerchiefs.

Severus, on the other hand, had never _ever_ encountered such a moving moment, that the cupboard that he had locked his emotions in, suddenly creaked open, leaking in the diminutive amounts of his anger, guilt and pity creep in.

Severus, as he dropped the sack with no care on the carpet, rested his elbows on his knees and placed his face in his palms as he heard the boy gulp through his sobs as Albus whispered soothing words. The boy babbled incoherent words that Severus did not even try to decipher.

“What isn’t fair, dear child? Won’t you tell me?” asked Albus with a thick voice, that even made Severus’s throat constrict.

“Th-They lied! I-I-That’s not fair!” The boy’s breath hitched and the child started to weep louder.

“Who lied, my child?”

But the boy only buried his face further into Albus’s robes and continued to cry in earnest, repeatedly saying that ‘ _it_ ’ wasn’t fair.

Severus thought he probably knew _exactly_ what _it_ meant to the small boy and the hurt sorrow that flowed freely from the boy’s eyes was only the beginning of the Dursley’s effect on the child’s life.

Severus, in the back of his mind, started going through his memories of Spinner’s End as a child, living in Cokeworth in the dreary, rundown house that even to this day, he was having a hard time renovating.

The beatings, his mother’s screams and him begging his mother to run away with him as a child, yet having his mother shake her head and tell him that a witch of the Prince’s honour would do no such thing and always trying to convince Severus to stay strong as she would go ‘have a little conversation’ with Tobias.

His father would always end up storming up into Severus’s room, and spew his drunken frustrations of being dirt poor and married to a witch in either screams, fists or bottles while his mother begged on her knees behind his father to stop.

Yet, Lily was a perceptive one.

Always asking Severus to come play whenever he was outside, escaping his father’s drunken slurs and rage, always pouting when Severus would say something about his large clothes and always asking Severus if he had cried, eaten, slept or even had fun that day.

Yes, his mother had always loved him, but her love was sparse, hidden behind her apprehension and poise, tiptoeing around the man she wanted to desperately go back to loving.

Lily was always there even as his mother had gotten ill. She had always vehemently refused the Lily’s offered help of asking her parents, and had been the one to explain to the little girl about St. Mungo’s and how she was going to have check-ups and all of that.

Yet, the next year, Severus had royally messed up—calling his only sense of normality in Cokeworth a terrible name, pushing his only companion far, and dragging himself into the seduction of the Dark Arts alongside Lucius.

His mother had died that year, in her bed, with none of the check-ups she promised to Lily, but with all the pride of a Prince. His father was wrought with grief and far more sudden anger, blame and beatings, and more than ever did Severus want Lily, loved her and would do anything to have her make him calm once again. But she was a _mudblood_ , yes, and was too proud to go back.

So he had desperately owled Lucius and asked what he could do. Lucius had owled him back, and had simply stated that the Dark Lord would like to brand him after the next three days and that he would surely help him. He had gone blindly, gotten branded all the while being convinced by the Lord who held his newly branded and swollen arm a short length away on how proud he was of Severus’s intelligence with _Sectumsempra_ and that he could prove his undying loyalty by killing the drunkard of a Muggle he called father, and finally accepting that magic was power and that Muggles were only dirt.

And so he did, alone and swiftly.

A single curse to his father’s wrist and the man writhed on his bed and went still, cascading squirts of the deep maroon, so like his mother’s coughs. The linen was once again, stained by death, and this time Severus had caused it.

He had been glorified in midst of the Death Eaters, and had his act cleaned up by them so neatly that the police had merely taken one look at the body and knew it was ‘alcohol poisoning’. Hell, only Lucius’s batch of Death Eaters and he were the only ones that ever knew what happened.

But as much as he was relieved that Tobias Snape could never touch him again, nineteen-year-old Severus could not rid himself of nightmares for a month, even as he distracted himself with his Potion’s Mastery.

So, as he raised his head to the only person he voluntarily told about his parents, he met the damp azure and quickly opened his mind. With a nod that the old man quickly understood, Albus pushed his head of Legilimency in his mind and quickly delved into the cupboard and lived through the scenes of Severus’s time at the Dursley’s.

He heard Albus groan in midst of Harry’s pitiful cries as he saw the child’s bedroom and the blasted ‘HARY’S ROOM'.

Severus, and he knew Albus felt it, renewed his vow, swearing to not only protect Lily’s boy, but Harry’s unique innocence that had manage to fester under such horrible neglect, and he felt Albus’s deep sadness yet coursing, wild approval of such an amendment.

Exiting from his mind, Albus suddenly got up and walked over to Severus, with an exhausted Harry in his arms, who was letting out the most hurtful sounds, and bent himself to make the boy look at him again, green eyes puffed behind the lenses.

The Supreme Mugwump, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Great Sorcerer himself with tears streaming down his old face, dried the boy’s tears and kissed his brow.

“You brave boy, you have both the Professor and I. We will not hurt you, oh you sweet boy. We shall tell you everything about your parents when the time comes, and you will come to love magic, Harry.”

Severus gasped as he understood what had just happened. Albus might have babbled some things to the boy out loud, but he felt the power of the great wizard flare.

Albus Dumbledore had just vowed with his magic that Harry Potter would stay protected so long as he was alive.

Just as Severus had once done for the man.

And he was looking straight into Severus’s eyes, the twinkle flashing in both tears and Gryffindor boldness and Severus could only nod to such a display.

The old man straightened and smiled down at the boy he cradled. He bounced the boy a little, and only then did Severus notice that the boy had fallen completely asleep.

And the time.

“Forgive me, Harry,” whispered Albus as he once again, kissed his brow, and looked back at Severus.

Albus let out a suffering sigh and beckoned Severus to stand with a jerk of his head.

“I have a few Ministerial meetings I need to sort out related to the management of Azkaban tomorrow,” he said softly as to not wake the boy. “But I think you would approve, that after Rowle’s incident, we must gather help.”

Severus, arms crossed, and looking at the sleeping Potter nestled in Albus’s arms, suddenly looked at Albus with wide eyes.

“You wish to revive the Order?”

“I do, and I have. A few members are nestled in the Ministry. Alastor Moody—you would remember from the trials, yes? Even with all his grouch, will be delighted to—in his words, ‘be out of protocol.’ Remus Lupin will be here tomorrow, Severus, and for this child’s sake, you will cooperate. Is that clear?”

The boy rustled against Albus’s beard, causing Albus to chuckle and readjust the boy, by flinging his beard over the small frame, somewhat draping Potter in a reminiscent memory of a four-poster bed.

“I will.”

Albus brushed the boy’s scar with a wrinkled hand and seemed to be fighting something.

His guilt.

Severus, at that scene, suddenly noticed how flawed a man Albus Dumbledore was and how vulnerable and lonely he was when he protected the ones with his heart.

Gellert Grindelwald, a man he fiercely loved, turned against him and was defeated by Albus himself. Newt Scamander, another student and a renowned magizooligist that Albus held dear, was also dragged into such a predicament that Albus had wrought with his love. Tom Riddle, an orphaned boy who grew malicious even with Albus’s eye on him, had killed the now cradled boy’s parents, causing him to take the legal wizarding guardianship and set about the boy’s protection.

He was the man who had set the blood protection with Petunia and no one questioned him, not even Severus, because they believed him to be all-knowing.

But he was always human, and believed in the love that had always failed him.

And Albus’s eyes, though Severus could not believe it, held fear. Fear for the boy that he brought the life of fame to, the life of neglect for and soon, a life of the Great Albus Dumbledore’s love.

The boy, Severus knew, was not going to be leaving his time in the Wizarding World unscathed, even at the tender age of six.

“Severus, I will need help for this boy to live. Do you understand?”

He did not.

“I-Pardon?”

“I have wronged him, and yet he wept freely in my arms, complaining about something I had caused. You must be there for him, Severus. Vow or no vow, you must be one of Harry’s closest. I am far too old and frail—his life is in my hands, and protecting one’s life is not a simple matter of signing a document, which I must admit, I have already done.”

Severus nodded, though he could not understand where this was going. Yes, he would be around for the boy, and simply for him, but what was Albus trying to imply?

“I can only hold him, Severus, but he must be closer to others. I fear my care will lead him to his death. A blinding innocence he shows, something I would not see again once he knows about my role in his life.”

“Albus, don’t be so— “

“Please, Severus. You must cooperate with Remus. The boy will grow with love, not the past.”

Severus’s eyes flashed as he looked at the boy again.

“I said I would cooperate, did I not?”

The boy’s hand had somehow crept up as Albus had rustled, perhaps, and now the overgrown toddler had a thumb in his mouth.

Though Severus would not have Potter follow him around with spit on his fingers, he thought that the sight of such a soft and vulnerable act in Albus’s arms was nevertheless, endearing.

“This is not about tomorrow’s cooperation, my boy. The past holds many troubles and failings, that sometimes, needs to be explained to others.”

Severus glared at Albus as the implication hit.

“Oh, how _wonderful_. You want me to associate with the _werewolf_ and tell him the sob story of the greasy Slytherin they _bullied_ throughout his school life. He could’ve _killed_ me!”

Potter whimpered, and Albus shushed him with a finger to his lips.

“Severus, do not yell.”

“Albus,” he hissed, “what you’re suggesting would only lead to me being in an awkward standoff with a man I’ll still hate. Why would I tell him _anything_ about Cokeworth, you horr—no, I can’t do that, how could I?”

Albus sighed, rolling his eyes, making Severus wanting to fling his Whizzing Galaxial Rod at his face. How could he suggest such a thing?

“Open your arms, Severus, and hold Harry. In fact, make room for him in your chambers to sleep in, yes?”

Severus spluttered incoherently as the boy was deposited in his arms, causing Albus to quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Tell me, Severus, what is so bad about being on better terms with a man you hated? He has lost as much as you and carries his own guilt and troubles. Times have changed, and so it will keep changing, the fickle queen. He may not have been kind or helpful as Lily had once been to you, but for Harry? He would move the world for him, and being on better terms with you is the least Remus will do. And you would do good remembering that.”

“I had asked you to never tell anyone. Yet you want me to openly divulge it?” asked Severus, considerably irritated.

He shifted the boy so that his head rested on his shoulder, while an arm hanged limp on his chest. Puffs of hot breath hit Severus’s neck. It felt so foreign, holding such a small thing.

It didn’t feel like he was meant to be holding the boy.

He bent down slowly, almost dropping the boy—but he managed to grab the sack— ‘backpack’ called it Harry Potter, and straightened himself with a rather profane curse.

A deep breath.

“Severus— "

“For Lily and her boy…I will…concede to such a request.”

Albus, who had made his way back to the ornate chair, steeped his fingers over the desk and smirked openly.

“Oh, Severus, my agreeable boy.”

Severus rolled his eyes, and looked at the face over his shoulder, showing a face of complete indifference before looking back at the little boy in his arms.

_Lily’s son—in my arms? What has the world tangled itself into?_

“How long will he have to stay in my chambers?” he asked without lifting his eyes towards Albus.

“A week, perhaps? It is the full moon in two days, and Remus had written about a fever. Poor boy, the sick transformations were the worst for him…hm…I am no Potions Master, but Wolfsbane may be very welcome, don’t you think?”

Severus audibly groaned and with his free hand he grandly bowed.

“Your agreeable boy.”

“Right you are, Severus,” sing-songed Albus.

With a turn of his heel, Severus made his way to the door.

“Goodnight, Headmaster,” said Severus shutting the door.

“Pleasant dreams to both my boys!” exclaimed a voice behind the door, causing Potter to rustle in his sleep and drop his spittle smeared thumb from his mouth, straight onto Severus’s front.

Pleasant indeed. Rowle dead, Harry Potter’s spit and abuse, and now a sick werewolf.

Severus groaned as he made his way done to the dungeons with the Boy-Who-Lived in his arms.

Yet, soon after Severus quickly descended a few flights of stairs, all Severus could think of was the absolute mortification he would face if any of his students saw him holding the Slobbering Saviour in his arms.

Slytherins held a sense of pride after all, and the Boy-Who-Lived was quickly chipping away said icy pride, just by merely existing.

 _Bloody Gryffindors and their brood,_ thought Severus as he whispered his password and quietly opened the door to his office with his boot-clad foot.

* * *

_Cold._

_"We should have never listened to you,” spat James. His hazel eyes flashed behind the gold-rimmed glasses. “You’ve gotten us killed. You’ve taken Harry from us.”_

_His black hair blows with the misty air, making him look like an angelic dementor._

_“Look what you’ve done, Sirius.”_

_Suddenly, the misty fog next to James’s figure warps into another familiar sight._

_Her auburn hair flows freely, her green eyes narrowed._

_"My little baby is without his mother. Is this what you expected from us? For little Harry?” she asked, voice cracking._

_“Lily,” croaked Sirius, falling onto his knees. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known—Remus…he would never—I’ll keep Harry safe— “_

_“And how will you do that?” James asked, wrapping an arm around a weeping Lily._

_“You’ve landed yourself in Azkaban!” bellowed James. His robes flared menacingly from the next gust of wind._

_“James—Prongs, please. He’s my godson. Your son. I would never— “_

_Lily tilted her weeping face towards him from James’s chest._

_“Problematic,” she said in monotone._

_Suddenly, the scene warped. The Black Family House. Grimmuald Place._

_Where James and Lily were, stood his mother._

_“The most problematic, irresponsible child the Blacks have ever wrought,” continued her lecture._

_Her silken green robes were splattered with her own blood. How Sirius knew was out of the question. Yet she still held the chin of the Blacks, grey eyes glistening as she looked down at him, as she had done so many times before._

_“Have you have no shame, you? Abomination. The Gryffindor of the Blacks,” she hissed as she circled him, her wand out._

_It was the tapestry room. The Black family tree spread across the walls—all his forefathers’ small pictures making noises of disgust._

_Sirius kept his eyes on the wand though, trained knowing that he could not escape it._

_“Your father would’ve flayed you, if he wasn’t so embarrassed by your presence, that is! You horrible child—almost killing a Slytherin! Courting with the ruffian Gryffindors?! You put the name of the Slytherin Purebloods to SHAME!”_

_She raised her wand at her shout._

_“CRUCIO!”_

_Right before the red beam hit Sirius, he fell._

_He kept falling, screaming for help, through the mist._

_No one heard him._

Jolting awake, Sirius clapped a scrawny hand over his heaving chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart.

Once his heart calmed, he opened his eyes, scanning his area.

His cell. The greyed bricks. His tallies.

He slowly rose from the cot, groaning as his head pounded.

His cot creaked as he got up. As he stood, his breaths evened and he looked over his grubby self.

 _Bloody nightmares_ , he thought as he swiped himself from the grime of his sleep.

As he hummed the Hogwarts school song, he made his way to the bars for his daily check of guards and dementors.

Really, Sirius knew better now, after years in Azkaban, to get practice on holding his ground when it came to nightmares. When the dementors were loose, his ‘nightmares’ were more torture than anything.

Besides, thought Sirius, as he grabbed the fallen piece of chocolate from the floor past the bars. The years were worth the pain he had caused to James, Lily and his little godson.

As he quickly looked to the sides, he saw the coast clear, and slowly made his way back to the cot.

As he sat back on it, he turned back to see his tallies again. He had scratched them every year, whenever the guards had started talking about their New Year’s celebrations.

Six.

Harry would be six.

He sighed and ran a hand through the matted clumps of hair, thinking back on the dream, though he knew he shouldn’t.

Really, with his mother—he dealt with no tears, he thought bitterly. It was Lily’s tears that made him beg.

James had never been that furious.

He laid his head back on the wall and took a deep breath.

His Animagus form, whenever the dementors had come by to ‘stare’ at him, had always confused them away, making him the sanest and healthy prisoner in Azkaban—the only man that could hold onto happy memories—though he knew he knew he deserved to suffer.

Really, Remus. All he was doing was helping. He could even see himself in suspicious manner—Remus was always the most rational one.

He groaned as he both his head in his hands, willing the tears to stop.

His father’s Dark Spells were nothing compared to his guilty tears when they started. They were far worse than any dementor to him.

He sniffled and completely willed himself void of emotion—the small bit of Occlumency practice his father had made him practice for family gatherings.

It was strange, really, how much he was thinking about the family he betrayed or the one he used to belong to today. He plopped the chocolate in his mouth, and willed himself to think about the prank the Marauders had pulled in their third year on Bellatrix. ‘The Loo Call,’ they had named it.

He snorted as he thought on it. Shame he couldn’t ask her if she remembered it—she sounded like Voldemort’s bloody announcer every day, though he never knew where her cell was actually held.

He spread his thin frame back on the cot, laying his head back on the hard cloth, and thinking about his godson.

Harry, when he was born, was the happiest moment for Sirius. Remus hadn’t stopped smiling the whole day and James—well, James was the proudest and the loudest and a real father. Fleamont and Euphemia, oh—what wonderful grandparents they would’ve been. They had been so _jubilant_ , even hugging and kissing Sirius’s cheeks so many times.

Pity they had died a week later, as they had gone on a small trip overseas—to France. It had been ‘a long planned’ trip, according to his adopted mother. The Death Eaters seemed to think otherwise.

Lily, even though she had been terribly tired, had cooed and talked to the little scamp like none of the boys had ever heard, remembered Sirius with a sad smile on his face.

He knew he had to survive. He had to live for Harry.

One day, the boy would come and get angry, demanding answers through the bars—and Sirius would tell him. Whether he believed it or not, Sirius did not care. He wanted to see Harry healthy and happy, and away from pain.

Away from the past.

_Does he look like James even now? He had Lily’s eyes. Such a soft yet naughty little boy he was, at six months._

He must’ve fallen asleep again, as he woke up discombobulated and utterly confused as the shouting and yelling had woken him up.

He hadn’t heard…LeStrange? Rodolphus LeStrange, wasn’t it? Why was he yelling like that?

There was a banging at his bars.

“Black? Sirius Black? Get up!”

Sirius swayed as he quickly got up, head pounding to another nightmare of Remus’s face, that time.

And sure enough, a manic, dirty Rodolphus was gripping his bars…his bars…out of his cell?

“Wh-What?” said Sirius huskily, throat like sandpaper and pepper from the years of disuse.

“We’re getting out. Rowle’s elf killed the guards and opened Mulciber’s cell with the wands. So, what say you, Black? Shall we go finish our deeds for the Dark Lord?” said Rodolphus with a grin splitting his dirty, delirious face.

Sirius stared at the man’s face—a cousin that he used to dine with.

“D-d-d-dementors?” he stammered out, rubbing his arms.

“It wasn’t time till they were to be set out. The log said in an hour, they were to be rounded. No, no more. Get up and move, cousin. We can get _out_ ,” laughed Rodolphus in a sing-song speech.

No Pureblood would _ever_ sing-song like that.

But Harry. He could see Harry. Heck, maybe even do off that back-stabbing _rat_.

So what if they’re mad?

Sirius could finally set himself free, find help even.

Rodolphus had already been tinkering with cells security through his contemplation, and once the cell opened, Sirius didn’t even look back.

He quickly made his way out, with Rodolphus gripping his hand, strangely.

He saw Bellatrix, Mulciber, Corvegue and the other Death Eaters at the blinding entrance to the cave as he dragged Rodolphus along with him.

“Oh! My dear _Sirius_!” giggled Bellatrix. “You’re not as handsome as you were back then, hm?”

Sirius winced in disgust, as Bellatrix hadn’t looked any better, with her rotting teeth. At least Sirius had used the sticks to clean his.

“Go to your wife, Rodolphus,” said Sirius as he let go of his hand. “Go-Go finish your deeds. I have one somewhere else.”

“Wife? Bella? I don’t need her. The Dark Lord does.”

Sirius sighed as he heard the other Death Eaters cackle.

Mulciber, as grimy and horribly kept as he looked, seemed to devoid of something, observed Sirius.

“Not everyone’s gone mad, I see,” he chortled as he slapped Sirius’s back.

“Never thought you would’ve finally made your mark as a Black, eh?”

_I had hoped that only I was sane._

“Right. Now, to leave?”

“Yes. We’ll have to split. Understood the lot of you? I’ll take Rodolphus and Bella with me—Black you can— “

“I’ll go alone.”

“What?”

“Leave me be, Mulciber. I have some…deeds to get through,” he said plastering a smile on his face. Rodolphus giggled loudly.

Mulciber ran a hand through his mangled beard, scrunching his eyes to the light.

“You will have to stay out of sight.”

“I will. What happened to the guards?”

Corvegue laughed shrilly. “Dead and piled in my cell, Black.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. “How did you kill them?”

Corvegue laughed again and produced a small steel spoon from his pocket.

“Stabbed them like a mudblood,” he said grinning.

Sirius, hiding the wince, nodded and made his way towards the entrance, squinting his eyes at the blinding light.

“You can’t just _take off_ , dear cousin,” sang Bellatrix. Stepping forward, she embraced him, and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

Holding as much composure as he could, he nodded and turned back.

“It’s better if no one looks for each other?”

Mulciber nodded back. “Rowle was killed. The elf did not say who—it popped away, telling us the residence of one _Harry Potter_.”

Sirius froze as was about to run his hand through his hair. “Ha-Potter? Why?”

“I think,” drawled Mulciber,” we will have to see for ourselves.”

Bellatrix cackled loudly, joined by her husband. “Ickle Potter should be happy for such a surprise!”

Suddenly, Sirius’s freedom was no longer important.

He had to get to Harry.

“What was the address, then?”

Mulciber raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“You will go to the boy? The same boy’s parents you had killed?”

Hurt coursed through his shivering frame, though he must’ve concealed it well behind his chattering teeth.

“No—not now. I suppose you’ll wait a while too?”

“Of course. I’m not doing any business looking like a deranged Gry—madman. Dark Lord or no.” A few chuckles came from the back of the prison as a few other freed Death Eaters made their way forward. None of them Sirius knew.

“Right. The address?”

“Surrey, Number 4, Privet Drive. That’s what the elf said. Surrey…I don’t recall ever visiting there,” said Mulciber thoughtfully as he patted the back of an anonymous Death Eater—to Sirius at least.

“Understood. Don’t go there without me. After all, I did kill his parents. He should at least see me.” Sirius couldn’t believe he actually said that. Yet, it seemed the haggard people were convinced.

“Made the whelp’s godfather, weren’t you? No one’s going without you, Sirius, and that’s on the Black name,” chuckled Bellatrix, making him ever so eager to punch her cheery face till she saw her own constellation.

Taking a deep breath, he looked back at the light.

_Not a very different family reunion, except they all actually like me and I’m playing them._

“Shall we?” called out a random Death Eater to which Mulciber smiled to.

“Let us. Who will go last?”

Before anyone raised their voices, Sirius had said it. “I will. I’ve just eaten some chocolate, too. Get going.”

Mulciber laughed along with the other mad people. “You really were good at hiding things, Black. Let’s go Bella, Rodolphus. Shall we go Rowle’s Manor?”

And as the Death Eaters quickly casted cushioning charms with the guards’ wands, it hit Sirius that he had no idea about what exactly he was doing.

Whatever it was, he knew his mother was definitely disappointed, which fuelled him.

Harry. Little Harry.

He knew, he just _knew_ , that Mulciber and the rest would not go past him if he went to Surrey on his own.

He just _had_ to see him.

He took the wand offered to him by a Hufflepuff Death Eater, and waved it around to see a few sparks fly out.

He could apparate with this.

_Was Andromeda okay? And her little girl? Can’t seem to remember her name._

He was free, he thought as he hopped down the ledge, watching the last of the Death Eaters apparate using the wands.

He was free, he thought grimly as banged the wand to his knee. He was free to commit the crime he was imprisoned for. If only he knew where the rat was right now.

He was free—of course, if Remus could put it together quick enough—to hug, smile and just _be_ around Remus and his transformations.

But one thing was for certain, which Sirius could finally smile for towards the sun.

James’s boy. Lily’s fawn. Remus’s little one.

He had no clue on how we going to go about it, but he would. He _was_ a Marauder, after all.

He took a deep breath as he stepped over the rocks, looking over the vast ocean.

He could finally protect his godson.

Little Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Hopefully life gets a little more interesting and less...messed up.
> 
> Maybe I should've made Sirius punch her in the face.
> 
> Stay safe!


	5. Bearings

As he let the tea steep in his chipped mug, Remus took another glance at the wretched paper.

_AZKABAN BREAKOUT-LESTRANGE, MULCIBER, BLACK AND MANY MORE! HOW TO STAY SAFE IN TIMES OF PERIL? Turn to page 4!_

Rubbing a palm over his face, he finally threw the horrid paper across the rickety table and looked out the window.

Yorkshire’s countryside was just as dreary as it was dramatic, and Remus secretly enjoyed the gloomy weather. Really, how much more can Remus handle? It only made sense that the universe finally aligned to his bloody doom.

He just couldn’t get himself to acknowledge his emotions for the past day—no, he just _couldn’t_. As far as he knew, James and Lily’s funeral was the last he wept out of grief and fear. Betrayal, too.

Even Peter’s memorial—though Wormtail had always been a preciously join-me-for-everything sort of boy—was a numb dredge. He couldn’t even remember if Peter’s mother was there or not. Much less, if he even spoke to her.

And now the bastard, _Sirius Orion Black_ , managed to escape _Azkaban_. That traitorous arse had always been selectively clever. The first one out of the three to find out about Remus’s affliction, even.

No—no more of that.

Dumbledore’s letter—yes. 

Taking the tea in his hand, he took a minute to scan his cramped living room. Leaning back on his chair, he spotted the letter teetering on the armrest of his small sofa.

Wordlessly, he summoned the parchment with a flick of his wrist using the wand he produced from under his sleeve, and read through it again.

_Dear Remus,_

_I am confident that my letter has reached you before Ms. Skeeter’s disclosure. Phoenixes are extraordinary in many ways._

_It has been very long since I have last contacted you. Last time I wrote to you was to inquire about your father and your residence after Lily and James’s funeral, to which I must admit, I had not expected a reply back so bluntly. ‘He is well and yet I am not. Leave me be for some time,’ you had written. Five years I have left you. A well-deserved time away from me, I agree._

_I still hold that letter, my boy. Fawkes hasn’t forgotten you._

_Now, the matter at hand._

_If you remember James and Lily’s boy and what I had told you at the funeral, he was placed with a relative of his, as Lily had invoked blood protection on her death. I had the misfortune of acquiring the information that the little boy’s life was in danger, yet I fear I’ve lost my informant from the price of such news._

_The Azkaban breakouts are linked._

_Times of uncertainty have returned with the addition of a Harry’s innocent life at risk. Now is the right time to revive the Order and as soon as possible. You may still want nothing to do with me, but Harry will be brought to Hogwarts soon and he requires both his past and utmost protection._

_I have sent word to Alastor, Kingsley and Emmeline. I will be sending letters to a few others soon. July 15 th, 6:30 am, you will have to floo to Hogsmeade. Aberforth will consent to it, but remember to floo within 6:30 am. He has to feed his goats, I presume. Minerva will be there to escort you to the castle. _

_It is likely that you may have to stay here for a while, at least for a few days. Wolfsbane can be arranged. Harry will be here, too. In fact, I am writing this letter as and when Harry’s family is most probably being told of the problems at hand. He will be arriving shortly._

_Do not reply back. Anything you want to say to me must be done at the castle. Do not miss it, child._

_Yours,_

_Albus_

With a sigh, Remus read through it one more time. Tomorrow, at 6:30 am. To Hogwarts. Of all places, the one place of happy memories—now to be tainted with Order meetings.

In one swig, he downed the tea and let his tongue burn to the bitter taste. If only he hadn’t run out of sugar yesterday.

He smiled sadly as he remembered James thumping his back after a particularly strategic prank on Snape involving flobberworm mucus and salted porridge. A nasty boy, Snape had been—and James was rather keen on getting what he deserved the day he called the small first year a mudblood. ‘The only stable one,’ James had called him after Snape had strut out of the Great Hall, fuming, alongside his Death Eater friends.

James did not see Remus’s life going to absolute shite after his death, did he? Almost as if he had died to give Remus the longest migraine to suffer from and nobody else.

He’d been drinking again for the past week or so—he couldn’t stop thinking about the time his father’s illness had significantly gotten to the very worse than it had ever been. His father had asked Remus to write ‘a few things out, just in case,’ Remus just about lost it.

The dank Lupin Vault, his father’s dark creature research papers and his father’s home in Wales. His home too, apparently, but he had only been there until he was bit.

What an inheritance.

He had once drunk himself to oblivion on the dingy sofa and had woken up only to vomit throughout the day. He couldn’t even find enough ingredients around the house to dredge up a Stomach-Soother potion.

Running a hand through his hair, the only thing he could think about was Albus Dumbledore and his blasted ‘Fawkes hasn’t forgotten you.’ He took care of the bird one bloody time when the Headmaster had to rush to a Wizengot meeting.

 _Dramatic old codger_.

He finally got up from the wooden chair and grabbed the paper from the other side of the table. Making his way to the small living room, he went around the greying sofa, towards the small fireplace. It was big enough to fit in for flooing but horridly dirty and old. He couldn’t afford much, so a rundown cottage was all he could get.

Besides, with all the moving he had to do to avoid suspicion, Yorkshire was a place he remembered enjoying. He never could speak to any of the kids—yet Mum had let him go to Roundhay Park, once. It was Leeds, where they had a home then—and he was apparently at the age of pent up child-frustration of having no one to play with.

The park was always beautiful—Remus secretly romanticised it even at this age. Lush and green with bodies of water in between. Muggle fountains—his father found them terribly endearing while his mother found the bandstand near the lake the epitome of lovely.

Some boy—Thomas Gerald—had let seven-year-old Remus join their cricket game which had completely whirled into rugby and straight up wrestling.

Thomas had right after, asked his parents if he could play with them more often to which his parents smiled and agreed to.

They had packed up and moved to Kent in less than two days.

His mother had visited the park when she had been let out of the hospital, though, and had gotten a picture of herself and his father at the bandstand. Hope Lupin, with her bouncy blond curls hugged by a usually stern Lyall Lupin, who’s gritty long face had softened in the picture.

She had written that a muggle couple took the photo for them. It was the last letter he had from his mother. A wonderfully strained woman, she was, and he was still twelve and starting his second year of Hogwarts then—my little boy, she had written to. Never had she looked at Remus in any other way but her little baby.

James and Sirius had practically walked Remus throughout the week and the funeral.

_Sirius Black—no._

When his father fell sick three years ago, Remus had to get him to St. Mungo’s in London—and for that, he had to work several odd jobs. Lyall Lupin was a terribly clever man for many things but by Merlin, he was utterly daft when it came to sentiments.

“Stay in Wales, Remus,” he had rasped out as Remus helped him into his dressing gown. “Work if you must, but stay around home.”

“What? Why?” he asked, summoning the morning’s newspaper from the cart to his hands.

“I’d like to come home whenever they let me. Your mother left the camera and photos there, too.”

“You won’t die, Dad.”

“Oh, yes I will.”

That terribly clever man made Remus work like a madman—starting from bookshops to even washing dishes in a Muggle restaurant. He kept getting fired from being away for too long yet, he kept picking more jobs up to support him. Lupin’s Vault was used in the expense of Lyall Lupin’s treatment while Remus’s support was for the usual—living somewhat comfortably, that is.

It never was enough for either, but having your son as a werewolf and a monster—you just adjusted to it. Wherever his father went, so did that sentence from his mouth.

He died a year ago, and then even, he could not cry. Could not weep. His father did everything he could to love the ‘anomaly’ he was, yet it was always awkward. Always sidestepping the important things.

Yet he was the only one at his funeral. Did he love him? Had he managed to accept Moony? Was he proud of Remus even if he couldn’t support himself? He could not say, but he did what he could.

Everything was a sidestep scenario after James and Lily’s burial, even his own feelings.

So, he was alone and betrayed. So what. He moved to Yorkshire after two other moves—determined to work only and _only_ there. He sold his and his father’s home in Wales with only a twinge of remorse getting him just enough money to move to the south of Yorkshire—Barnsley—and got a job at a factory filled with addicts. Surprisingly, some of them managed to skive a whole month off of work. They were fired, of course, but it was covering up Remus’s full moons well. Sure, the owner thought he was getting wasted over muggle drugs, but Remus could hardly disagree—he was just wasting his life entirely from just horrible grief-stricken surprises and cheap alcohol.

It was the longest job he ever had, and only three days ago, did he get fired from ‘abusing their lenience,’ which, to be fair, is exactly what he did.

As he lodged the logs of wood into the fireplace, he thought carefully of what was going to happen.

He was going to meet Harry. _Harry_ _James_. Little Harry. The small bundle of joy that had always made Lily say the strangest things. ‘My fawn,’ she had called him, and immediately James had expressed his outrage, while he, Black and Peter had dissolved into laughter.

“Prongslet sounds better,” he had said as he took Harry in his arms.

“Horrible.” Lily had retorted.

He had Lily’s eyes, but had James’s hair, he remembered. He always called him Moo. He had even bought a small, red jumper a size too big for the little chaser. He had put it on the ten-month old baby and even tickled him as he had laid on his lap, making the little tyke giggle in such an adorable manner.

He would’ve even used that memory for a Patronus Charm if _Sirius_ wasn’t in it. He was so _proud_ being the godfather. Funnily enough, Sirius doted on Harry like some sort of second mother and had once told off Wormtail for making Harry sick up. Harry would always ask for ‘Pafoo’ whenever any Marauder walked in, and was never confused whenever Sirius shifted from the dog to himself. Anything dog was Pafoo.

And proceed to _betray_ sweet Lily and James?

Lily who had merely raised her eyebrows and asked if it hurt when he had told her about being a werewolf. Lily who hugged him after a wretched full moon and gave him numerous potions in one sitting. Lily and her alphabetically arranged pregnancy and childbirth books. What had she done to _him_?

James—oh, James.

Prongs, who coined the term ‘Marauders’ after eavesdropping a staff meeting. James who always got Peter into things that Wormtail would get too nervous to do. James who had always given him a one-armed hug after every bad moon. James who was smitten with Evans. Prongs who came up with the idea of becoming Animagus. James who kept calling David Bowie the ‘bow-wow bloke.’ James who got married with a dopey grin. James who would teach Harry how to high five.

James who was _best friends_ with a _Black_. James who had to save Severus Snape from Sirius’s revenge-filled brain. James who convinced Lily to make Sirius Harry’s _godfather_.

What _had_ James even _done_ to him but love him like a brother?

Where had it gone wrong?

He quickly cast _Incendio_ on the logs and threw in the letter and the paper. He needed to do something dramatic, anyways.

As he sat back on his heels and wrapped his robes tighter around himself, it had always occurred to him that Harry was going to get into the war one way or the other. He had read the term in the paper—The-Boy-Who-Lived—and had nearly spend the whole day crying. He had immediately moved to Devon, he remembered. His father had even given up contacting him then.

Devon was horrible.

Harry, he thought as he got up from his spot on the floor, was in just as deep as Dumbledore is. He wouldn’t know, would he? He would be six, turning seven this thirty-first…yet his future looked marred by war.

He remembered Dumbledore from the funeral vaguely stating that Voldemort wasn’t gone for good—and Remus had believed it. He better. The Azkaban breakouts—Merlin, it was starting again, wasn’t it?

The little chaser didn’t deserve his future to be so mucked up by all these mistakes for adults. He deserved James and Lily’s love.

Yet, Harry must’ve grown with love. Relatives—must be distantly related from Lily’s side—had taken him. He’d know about Lily…though he couldn’t seem to remember if Lily had invited any other part of her family to the wedding. Neither had she talked much about anyone besides her lovely parents and a rubbish sister. Peony or Petunia, something like that. Maybe he went there, maybe they took Harry out of love and regret.

Maybe Harry would actually have less of a chance of buggering his life up.

With a quick _Tempus_ , he checked the time as he made his way over to the kitchen. He spent nearly an hour being dreary and gloomy—it sickened him.

His kitchen was in one word—peeling. The wallpaper looked like someone burnt parchment and stuck it all over the walls. And then proceeded to draw some sort of fancy weed every 10 centimetres. His stove always needed a kick to start, and his gas to get it going always made the whole house smell. Though today was an exception—his gas was running out. So much for working for Calor, the bloody LPG company. He didn’t even have room to bend down and check—his kitchen was as big as his dorm bed in Gryffindor.

He thought about Harry as he rummaged through the rotting cupboard above his head, instead. Would he like him? Would Harry like _him_? He wouldn’t remember Moo—after all, he had no idea what these relatives of Harry even knew. Would he look just like James? Maybe have Lily’s scarce freckles?

But most importantly, could Remus bear it?

_“Prongs, mate, does he really sick up so often?”_

_James laughed as he took Harry from Remus’s arms. Bouncing Harry carefully, James cooed nonsense at him causing Harry to gurgle over James’s shoulder._

_Remus leaned back on the sofa, carefully adjusting so that his now vomit soaked sleeve was away from the cushions. He sat facing the scene of James Fleamont Potter being a father in James Fleamont Potter’s flat—still facing the surreality of it all._

_“He just got a bit excited, didn’t you Harry?” he heard James say as Harry’s small eyes started to droop over._

_“He really is quite the lad.”_

_“Hm, the best, actually,” James said softly through his grin. Carefully adjusting his glasses with one hand, he raised a sock clad foot on the sofa, making Remus swat at it._

_“I have no space, idiot.”_

_“Oh, shush. I need to get comfortable to have a heart-to-heart.”_

_“Oh, not **your** heart-to— “_

_“Shut your gob. I have to get used to it. Harry’s going to be having multiple heart-to-hearts as he grows up, so take your sparse talk and leave. As I was **saying**_ **,** _I am very thankful for the jumper you gave Harry—shut it. Also, I am much, much more grateful for the snitch blanket with the warming charm. He might just sleep for more than two hours, Moony. You don’t know what you’ve given.”_

_Before Remus could open his mouth to say that all of this was rubbish, a door creaked open towards Remus’s right. Lily had woken up._

_“Remus? You haven’t fallen asleep?”_

_Remus smiled at Lily. She looked positively frazzled, with her auburn hair tied in a bun on her head—strands of hair sticking around her face. Her eyes had bags underneath them, yet she looked just as radiant as she had when she was seventeen. James really had chosen well._

_“I was just about to leave, actually. Right after the little one fell asleep. He just spat on me, though. And I now have the honour of sitting through Prongs’s horrible gratitude.”_

_Lily chuckled as she came over to take Harry in her arms. “Really, Remus, you don’t know how long I argued with James about making Sirius godfather. A lovely one, he is, yet he doesn’t stay up long enough. Took a kip on the guest bed, that dog father. Maybe if the Ministry and James weren’t such big idiots, I could’ve scribbled your name down for godfather as well.”_

_Remus felt his face flush. “Moo is enough, really. Besides, I’m on far too many missions compared to Sirius. Plus, I have quite the morbid fascination of howling at the moon.”_

_Remus’s growing suspicion of Sirius being a spy wasn’t something he needed to bring up here anyways._

_“Nonsense. You’re wonderful with Harry,” James quipped as he spread more of himself on the couch, squelching his feet behind Remus’s back._

_“Ouch, James.”_

_“ **Scourgify**_ **.** _There. No more spit. Please don’t move. It’s like a massage.”_

_“James, stop.”_

_“Moony, stay the night.”_

_“Can’t, you prat. I’ve got a day-job and a full moon in a week.”_

_“Oh, quit it you two, my little fawny-baby’s asleep,” Lily said as she rocked Harry against her chest. Remus rolled his eyes as James groaned._

_“Lily, that’s horrid and you know it.”_

_“Hm. ‘Prongsy-wongsy’ made Sirius almost cry. Marlene choked on her wine, even.”_

_Remus chuckled as he got up, making James grumble. It was always a pleasure being here. Would’ve been better if Sirius wasn’t so jumpy and completely off around him. No, he was **certain** Sirius was up to something._

_“I’ll leave you two be. Why did you two even name him Harry with no full name? I’ve always been meaning to ask.”_

_“Oh, you’re a nasty one, Moony” James grunted as Lily chuckled._

_“Tell us, James, why **exactly** I let it be,” said Lily smiling._

_“My grandfather, Henry Potter—he was Harry to his mates, yeah? He’s the reason we’re out of the Sacred 28. He had called the Minister of Magic at the time, and I quote from my father’s words, a ‘stuck-up shrivelfig’ for forbidding the English Wizarding World from helping the Muggles from the First World War. Wonderful bloke, really. I had butterbeer go up my nose when Dad said the ‘stuck up shrivelfig’ part.”_

_“Also because Lils adores Cliff Richard and his given name’s Harry, right? Better Harry than Ringo, I say.”_

_“Oi,” said Remus and Lily at the same time, indignantly._

_“You are extremely lucky Sirius did not hear that,” Lily retorted, narrowing her eyes._

_Sirius’s name made Remus’s stomach churn. Especially when used so flippantly._

_“Alright, time to go. I’ll write as soon as I am free—around Harry’s eleven-month-old birthday, I suppose. I’ll see you around. Tell Padfoot I’ve left.”_

_As Remus made his way to the door, James asked one more time if he could stay over. He only shook his head, and gave his reasons. With a final wave at his wonderful friends and an adorable sleeping baby, he shut the door and apparated._

_Four days later, Lily and James and written to him about going into hiding._

Remus hated surprises. Yet he was willing to go through this one. For James and Lily, at least.

He managed to fall asleep and hour later—coming to terms with the fact that he was truly afraid of a six-year-old’s opinion of him.

His night was filled with the faces of all those who had passed—all disappointed and furious with him.

Another surprise Remus should’ve seen coming.

* * *

As he raced around the house like a madman searching for his belt, Remus figures that working on eight hours of sleep for once, made him far slower than he thought.

Giving one last rummage through the small closet, he gave up and grabbed the rope that he had bought once in a fit of suicidal, drunken rage. He had ended up just sharing his bed with it, like some sort of angst-filled makeup with an estranged lover.

Transfiguring it into some sort of clothing material, he tied it through the belt latches of the trousers. He knew he wore the same trousers for all the funerals since 81’, but after being mistaken for an addict—to have it known that he was poor was immaterial. As if they wouldn’t be able to tell Remus was dredging through his ostracised life from the bad stitching on his robes.

He cast _Tempus_ , and almost kicked himself. 6:15. He had less than ten minutes to eat.

Running across the hall, and even ramming his hip against the island of the blasted kitchen.

Scavenging through the cupboards, he managed to scrounge up three lemon biscuits and his half a bottle of whiskey. No whiskey—can’t be that wasted in front of everyone. So, Remus shoved the biscuits in his mouth, and rushed to the fireplace, grabbing the bag of floo powder off the rotting mantelpiece.

He was too nervous to eat a full meal anyways. Even if he had a meal in that fridge, he assured himself.

His trunk stood upright as he stumbled around the small fireplace, stuffing wood in it. With a quick _Incendio_ , he lit the fire. Quickly, he threw in the floo powder. “Hog’s Head, Hogsmeade,” he spat out through the smoke, and yanked his trunk through the grate. The tug in his gut lengthened, and giving into the pull—and he felt his person dragged through a blur of emerald until he felt himself being spat out abruptly.

It had been a whole year since he last flooed, and he felt a little proud of myself as he merely stumbled and regained his balance. Wafts of ferment and sweat filled his nose as he straightened.

“Pulled it tight, eh lad?” he heard as he patted his trunk. Startled he looked up as he saw a rather familiar yet absent character from his mind.

At first, he thought the Headmaster himself stood in front of him—yet he understood from the apron and the rather bulky roundness of the man—this was Aberforth Dumbledore, his brother and the owner of the Hog’s Head.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Remus said, noticing the room behind the man. The walls were dirtier than Remus’s, strewn with cobwebs and a thick layer of dust—giving them a rather ugly mucus hue. This wasn’t where the infamous shady clientele would visit, no, as it seemed to be a sitting room of sorts. Off coloured sofas faced him, and he could see a curtained window to his left. Nevertheless, it was someone’s personal room, and Remus drew his eyes from the surroundings to face the man.

Aberforth, unlike his brother, was gruff and rugged—yet they both carried the same glacial eyes. Remus toyed with the imagery of Aberforth’s stature running Hogwarts, and immediately purged it.

“It’s fine. You’ve just cut it close. C’mon, boy—Albus’s lot’s waiting in the guest room. Mighty stupid, I say with all the breakouts. Bloody bastard…”

Truly, Remus would’ve indulged in the long tale of Albus Dumbledore slander if he wasn’t too busy calming his nerves.

 _Kingsley Shacklebolt_ —he was their senior by five years. Flitwick, had uncharacteristically, taken some time to talk about his graduating Ravenclaws and Shacklebolt had seemed to be sorely missed back then.

In the Order, Shacklebolt meant business in system. He and Moody—they always had their nose buried in maps or documents and always had the strongest veto power, alongside Dumbledore.

Yet, Lily had always said she loved Kingsley’s voice—she and McKinnon had even caught him once and made him hum along with them to ‘I Will’ by the Beatles. Kingsley could only indulge her—and what a surprise—yet another pureblood Beatles fan. She had promptly gushed about his ‘vocal prowess’ to James, who was decidedly red-faced and unimpressed. Remus and Black had found it incredibly hilarious.

Remus remembered with a dull pang, the Prewett twins—Fabian and Gideon, had made Kingsley laugh so hard at their rendition of the Weird Sisters, that Kingsley’s rich voice had turned into wheezes and grunts.

He remembered how Kingsley and he had once bonded over the idea that Quidditch was severely overrated, as well.

Would he remember the poor werewolf?

He didn’t want the man’s pity. He was too well off, that Shacklebolt.

_I’m going to see Harry today._

That thought almost made him hurl. Oh, Merlin, he was not in shape. Ever. And now he was just constantly ill. Did the Headmaster do right by him?

Before he could fret about McGonagall or Moody, Aberforth shoved him in front of a door so thin, that Remus could feel the heat of whatever conversation inside the room emanate. Without thinking too much, Remus knocked as Aberforth slapped his back in a farewell, supposedly—though Remus almost felt like punching the man back, leaving his trunk in front of the room, along with two others. That _hurt_.

The door opened with a quick fling, showing Remus the scene of his former Transfiguration professor in her tartan robes and tall hat sitting stiffly on an old indigo sofa, a cup of tea in her hand and a stern countenance drawn on her face. Remus knew well enough it was displeasure, though.

On the other side sofa, facing her—sat Alastor Moody. Scarred and near the rundown fireplace, he looked as menacing as ever. The few strands of hair that clung to his roots looked grey now and the scars across his face always made Remus’s look like nothing. Old gashes stretched over the right side of his face, and his mechanical eye whirred making the embers of the fire twist and twirl around the movement.

Shacklebolt, the only man he knew what to expect from—looked extremely tired. He seemed to have been staring at the dust coated window in thought before Remus came, and now the dark, tall man looked at Remus in simple surprise. His robes were a deep Auror purple, and he stood like royalty. Yet, the once confident figure looked weary—his arms crossed and dark bags under his eyes.

“Mr. Lupin? It’s been quite some time,” Professor McGonagall stated. “Take a seat.”

Remus quickly returned his gaze to his professor and nodded, not trusting his voice. Things looked serious, and his part in the Order was always werewolf-tracking. What was he going to contribute _here_?

Asking Moody with a gesture of his hand, the previous Head Auror nodded. Taking a seat on the old cushion, he coughed as the dust dispersed around him. Waving a hand, he smiled at Moody who nodded at him with a polite, “Lupin.”

Kingsley came around and waved his wand, and from the small tea tray on the dustier tea table, he procured some tea (with milk, mind) and Remus, with a ‘thank you,’ grasped it.

Taking a sip, he decided to just be out with it.

“No progress on the breakouts?”

Kingsley sighed and shook his head and sat on the left of McGonagall, who put her empty teacup on the tray.

“Our top priority is to secure the Wizarding and Muggle World first. Godric, we Aurors are sitting ducks until the Wizengot secure the plan of protection,” said Kingsley. His deep voice seemed hoarse.

“Bloody idiots, the Ministry. Dumbledore’s word has to pass as well related to the protection plan. It’s going to be constantly revised, if I know Albus Dumbledore and the ruddy Wizengot well enough,” rasped Moody as he poked the fireplace with his cane.

McGonagall sighed and rose from her seat. “We are here, are we not? We’ll have more offensive routes once the Order gets things together. Hopefully, quicker. Come. James’s boy is at the castle; we mustn’t make the child wait.”

Moody rolling both his eyes, muttered something about women and their minds on anything below them, and then got up. His former Head sniffed at the rude comment. Kingsley and Remus got up together, smiling a bit at the interaction.

Yet, Remus rather be screaming. No, he wasn’t ready for Harry. Oh, dear Merlin, he was never going to bear this.

Sensing his nervousness, but for the entirely wrong reason—Moody holding the door for the three to leave grabbed his arm as he shut it. “It’ll be alright, lad. Constant vigilance. The Order coming back will only help.”

Remus nodded with a smile and straightened his back a bit. He had to do this for James and Lily, didn’t he?

If only he didn’t feel so alone…and bloody _guilty_.

* * *

After thanking Aberforth, they immediately left the dingy pub and had quickly sorted out the issue of reaching Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall had gotten a portkey—a simple empty detention slip—that would take them directly in Dumbledore’s office. It was charmed heavily as Hogwarts’s many wards had to be bypassed for once.

Disillusioned, they quickly made their way to the Three Broomsticks. The village was so quiet—and the quartet dare not make any sound. Of course, the paper instigated the fear of one’s life—many shut down their stores. Yet the Three Broomsticks had Rosmerta bustling about, though there were only two people in there.

Who, Remus wouldn’t find out.

Obviously, they hadn’t wanted to stay any longer in the rundown pub of Hog’s Head, and the only way to get to Hogwarts was the portkey. Yet, the silence of the village was eerie. It was unanimously agreed that the Professor would tell us when the portkey was ready as they kept walking. To be on the move was better than staying in one place, after all.

So, in front of the reputed pub, McGonagall in her distinct, Scottish whisper told them the portkey was ready. Quickly securing his trunk in front of him and with a hard grip with his left, his right stretched to the slip and with a thumb and forefinger, and held a corner of the paper. Moody and Kingsley did the same—he couldn’t see them, though he felt the pressure.

The feeling of seeing Harry made his ears ring, and since nobody could actually see his face—made him cringe. “Hold on— “started the Professor and another feeling of his gut being tugged blossomed to which Remus gave into.

With a swirl of his person through a feeling of a tube, he felt himself land with a muted thud on a carpet.

Opening his eyes, he saw a tired Headmaster smiling behind his desk in a loud yellow robe, surrounded by the many, _many_ , trinkets that whirred and zoomed above him or clonked about in their places.

_Fascinating man if he wasn’t a war strategist._

Quickly cancelling the disillusionment, everyone faced the silver bearded man, who quickly made his way around the desk.

“Minerva, thank you for cooperating so quickly, dear. As for the rest of you, I deeply regret having to meet you in such perilous times. I hope everyone is well?”

_No, my father died._

He politely nodded along with everyone else.

“Wonderful. Lemon sherbets?” The wizened old man stretched his palm out to show the sweets to which Kingsley and Remus only took while the other two refused. Dumbledore wasn’t taking a no for an answer and quickly put a sherbet in Moody’s robe pocket and winked at Remus as the Auror grunted in surprise.

McGonagall wisely took the offered sherbet after that, causing the others (excepting Moody) to chuckle.

“Yes. Now, the matter at hand. The Order is being revived. I’ve sent letters this morning out to the rest of the Order—they will be coming later in the day. The castle is devoid of the students, though few staff come by.”

“As you three must know, we have a rather special, little guest today. Harry Potter, James and Lily’s boy. He will meet you in the Great Hall, where I’ve arranged for the Order’s meeting. Extravagant, I agree, yet a classroom did not seem to be of the right value for such talk. Let us be off.”

Surprisingly, Kingsley asked.

“How did he get here?” Even Moody had stayed quiet.

The Headmaster paused before he replied. “I had asked Severus to fetch him from his residence. It is better to keep an eye on the boy at Hogwarts. The Death Eaters would find it difficult to attack Hogwarts herself.”

Remus visibly started on Snape’s name, causing Dumbledore to look at him with eyes strangely filled with distress. “Severus Snape, you remember him, hm? Hogwarts’s Potions Master currently. Harry’s quite attached to him.”

Remus’s eyes were bulging. _Snivellus?_ Snape? The nasty, greasy boy who relentlessly tore anyone and everyone apart with his half-wit Death Eater mates? _Him?_ Lily had once told him that he didn’t deserve her friendship— _him?_

He and his friends had once made a first year cry without lifting a wand. That vile boy— _him?_ What in Merlin’s name—Harry was _attached_ to _him?_

_What was this man thinking?_

His face must have shown what he was thinking as the Headmaster ran a hand over his face. “He...be cordial to one another, my boy. I have talked to him about this, and I have your assurance that you know what I am asking? He clashed mainly with Sirius and James as far as I know, and he is amenable to change, especially after meeting Harry. Once again, Remus, be cordial.”

Remus could only nod in shock.

_James and Lily must be spinning in their graves…Snape?! With their **son**?_

“Pip, pip, we mustn’t dally,” cut the Headmaster. “Breakfast is in order, as well. I, for one, am in the need for some pastries. Come along now.”

Remus followed last after Professor McGonagall, thoroughly discombobulated. Quietly trudging along the stoned corridors filled Remus with memories he had wanted erased. James scampering around telling the boys how much of detention they were landing in by eavesdropping on the teachers, Sirius (Sirius, then) running to Remus about the issue at hand and Peter and him devising random sentences to soften the blow of detentions.

The corridors were empty and silent, more of a tomb rather than school making Remus think about what Harry had just lost. James and Lily’s constant bickering yet their smitten talk. Marlene’s aged wine that she never forgot to bring around. Mary and Lily’s ramble over the newest robe fashion.

He thought with a rather melancholic resignation that James’s boy was going to attend this school—the very school James had quickly paid off the seven years of tuition of ( _“Dad had paid it off as soon as I was three months old too, Moony.”_ ) and have the sparse tales of him that resided around this castle be told to him.

Lily wouldn’t be able to help in his Potions essays. James wouldn’t be able to see Harry on a real broom in Gryffindor’s team. They wouldn’t be able to see him off on the platform.

He would never see James as Prongs. Lily would never be able to show her love for the Beatles.

Harry would never get post from his own parents. He would never write to them.

Tears stung his eyes as he turned the left to get to the Great Hall.

_Was it worth it for Harry, you two?_

A quick swipe, and he grappled his emotions as he strode into the hall. Taking in the emptiness of the Hall, he quickly saw the Gryffindor table and looked back to the ceiling.

_I’m going mad. Emotional over a **table.**_

He saw Kingsley laugh over something Dumbledore say as they grabbed a seat at the Ravenclaw table.

He made his way over there, smiling past McGonagall—taking Dumbledore’s left.

As everyone settled, Dumbledore clapped twice causing the appearance of the very familiar cutlery and plates. McGonagall hadn’t had hers appear as she had kindly explained that she already had breakfast, thank you.

Kingsley sat across him, and looked younger looking at the empty plate with a splitting smile. Moody looked very constipated sitting next to the dark man—as if he was expecting the breakfast to be flobberworm mucus disguised as bangers. He probably thought that about anything he ate.

The Headmaster winked at Moody and clapped once, causing the nostalgic sight of the Hogwarts breakfast feast appear in front of them.

Remus ate sparingly—partly because he knew his stomach wouldn’t hold such rich food (when did beans become rich?) and also because Dumbledore had told him as he drank his tea that Harry and Snape should’ve been here by now.

Soon, Remus settled into a homely feeling, laughing along with Kingsley as he stated that he missed the free breakfast. Remus finally managed to explain that his father died to the Headmaster who merely closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking at Remus gravely.

“Lyall was quite the clever man. He would be proud of you, as much as he abhorred your affliction. Oh, I followed every single debate he was in, my boy. Even before I had arrived to your residence for your acceptance.”

The thought that his father could be _proud_ of a poor man with a life filled with fur and pain made his head ache. Yet, he allowed himself to daydream the scene for a few moments before remembering that he could have more tea.

Moody, over his toast—had explained the Auror position with the Headmaster to which Professor McGonagall had suggested an Auror statement on the defence. Dumbledore stroked his beard as Moody grunted about how useless it would be.

It held appeal, though.

As Remus finished off his second toast, he heard Professor McGonagall let out a breathless ‘oh!’

Following her line of sight, he almost dropped his half eaten toast on the plate.

They had arrived.

Severus Snape with the sallow nose, beak like nose with the greasy hair had grown tall and brooding from the nasty boy.

Yet, he hadn’t thought much on that.

His line of vision was focused on the man’s thin hand. A boy no bigger than a toddler had slipped a small hand into the large hand of the man’s.

James’s hair was mussed as Lily’s eyes looked at the table with awe. James’s boy even had _glasses_. Thick ones that made Lily’s eyes bulge.

The adorable baby he knew. The little chaser that was never going to know them.

He gasped as Harry’s eyes landed on his. The famous scar peeked through the nest of hair—jagged and pale.

_The scar._

Professor McGonagall uncharacteristically even placed a palm on Remus’s knee.

Severus then released hold on the door and the boy. He jerked his head making Harry look back and forth pleadingly at _Snape_.

Snape glared (glared!) at Harry to which Harry quickly padded in front of the man—his hands behind his back in obvious anxiety that made Remus’s heart clench.

James never did that.

Severus followed behind Harry and quickly, the two made it to the table.

“Albus,” said Severus simply.

The Headmaster looked jolly. He looked at Harry in front of him, who had his eyes to the floor. Raising Harry’s chin, he spoke in a way Remus had never heard the man speak.

“Now, Harry. I’ve some people I’d like you to make friends with. Yes? Why, Professor McGonagall, over there, see? She has a seat for you. Severus will sit beside you, hm? Is that amenable, little one?”

A meek “yessir,” was heard as Harry nodded slowly to.

“Good boy. Help him, Severus.”

Snape merely tapped Harry’s shoulder and pointed next to the Professor. Harry with a quick glance at Kingsley and him, walked quickly over to Professor McGonagall’s right and clambered, sweet thing, onto the bench.

Severus took the seat next to him and looked at Remus with his hooded eyes. Remus gave a shaky smile—he might as well start the ‘cordial behaviour’—to which he nastily sneered at.

Remus would’ve quipped something at him if he wasn’t so occupied with James’s boy. He then noticed not a single person had spoken as Harry sat.

“Harry, my boy, shall I introduce you?” instigated the Headmaster making Lily’s eyes fall on the man and him automatically.

He nodded quickly and looked back at the bacon platter with a double-take, making McGonagall chuckle—again, something she did very, _very_ , rarely if he remembered his school days.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said softly to which Harry looked back and blushed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, miss. I’m Harry,” said Harry quickly causing Kingsley, McGonagall, Dumbledore and even Remus into smiling at the little boy’s innocence.

_Oh, James. He’s wonderful._

“That is Professor Minerva McGonagall, Harry. She teaches children the subject of Transfiguration here at Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore setting down his cup.

McGonagall ran a hand through Harry’s hair, with a (shockingly) sniffle. “My, you look just like your father, Harry. Except your eyes. Your mother’s. Oh, Filius should’ve been here now.”

Harry smiled at her making Remus’s heart crush.

_He smiles just like Lily. Even with her dimples._

“And this, Harry—is Alastor Moody—ah, Harry— “

Harry had taken a glance at Moody and gasped loudly to which he looked back to _Snape_ and then Dumbledore with a gaping mouth.

Moody chuckled, making Harry look back fearfully at the man and quickly dropping his face his plate.

“Eh, lad—am I that frightening? I did try to brush my hair,” Moody said in good humour, making Kingsley snort.

Harry looked back, and searched Moody’s head looking at the thin hair. “It’s very nice, Mr. Moody,” he replied making Moody and Kingsley roar with laughter. Remus couldn’t even hide his chuckle as Dumbledore and McGonagall laughed along.

Snape had smirked.

_Snape, Merlin._

“Very kind of you, lad. I’ll ask you for your brush later. What, with all your hair, it _must_ be your hairbrush. What say you, boy, you think I’ll get more hair with your brush?”

Harry giggled, making Remus melt. “I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t have one. My hair’s just like this, sir!”

“Oh? I won’t get my hair back then? Shame, I had come hoping Harry Potter was going to, _at the least,_ cut his hair for me,” said Kingsley waggling a fork of eggs at Harry.

“My hair? Are-are you sure?” Harry asked thoroughly shocked.

Another smatter of laughter rippled through the table.

“This gentleman, Harry, is Kingsley Shacklebolt. Don’t be worried, Harry—there’ll be no hair cutting for anyone,” said Dumbledore still chuckling.

Harry visibly relaxed at that and replied with a ‘hello, Mr. Shacklebolt, I’m Harry’, causing Snape to finally snort.

_Bloody prat._

Harry looked at Snape in indignance, making Remus suddenly want to cheer. Severus merely raised a brow and reached for a toast for himself.

“And this Harry,” said Dumbledore, placing a hand on Remus’s shoulder. “This is Remus Lupin. He was a close friend of your parents, particularly your father. He and your father alongside a few friends would always land in some and the same trouble together.”

Remus knew the Headmaster felt him tense under his hand as Dumbledore rubbed his shoulder as Harry looked him up and down.

“He was in trouble with you a lot?” asked a small, hesitant voice.

“He would land us in trouble first,” he said to Harry.

“Very true,” retorted Professor McGonagall.

Harry smiled quickly at Remus making his eyes sting again.

“You have Lily’s eyes, Harry. She would’ve loved to see you,” he heard himself say to her fawn.

Harry nodded with a face-splitting grin. “You’re the fourth ever person to tell me that!”

The table emanated confusion.

_Only fourth?_

Severus seemed to furrow his brow at Harry as the chaser happily looked between Snape and him and Dumbledore.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lupin. I’m Harry!”

Something dropped in Remus’s stomach on hearing ‘Mr. Lupin’ from Harry’s mouth. He wasn’t Lyall.

He was _Moo_.

“Remus is fine, Harry.”

“Right. It’s nice to meet you, Remus. I’m Harr— “

“Harold?” asked Kingsley.

“No!” giggled Harry. “Harry!”

“Hm, I thought this was Henry, Shacklebolt.”

“It’s Harry!”

Remus smiled at the friendly banter, though he desperately wished he could keep talking. The little one didn’t know about Henry Potter, did he?

Swiping a tear discreetly with the back of his hand, playing it off as forking his eggs, he looked away.

He was right—he couldn’t bear it.

Dumbledore patted his knee, making Remus meet his piercing eyes behind the spectacles. The sad tilt of the man’s lips made Remus immediately go back to looking at Harry.

He _would_ learn to bear it. He had to.

James wasn’t here to tell him about his grandfather.

Someone had to.

* * *

_“Also because Lils adores Cliff Richard and his given name’s Harry, right? Better Harry than Ringo, I say.”_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams randomly make me angsty and Remus is quite the angst machine. The story is centered around the point-of-views of Harry, Sirius, Remus and Severus, so we've established the personas.  
> If you saw the Sirius/Remus tag, I thought I'd give it a shot. I'd actually read 'All the Young Dudes' by MsKingBean89, and thought it would be fun to incorporate some things from there, actually. Like the musical taste. And Sirius and Remus. (Obviously, it'll take a while)  
> We'll see Harry in the next chapter, yeah?  
> Comments are appreciated and I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!   
> This story is also up on ffn, and you might be from there lol.   
> I hope you enjoyed it! Please do let me know your thoughts and such! 
> 
> Stay safe!


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